All the Words We'd Sing
by RoyalNiffler
Summary: When Blaine leaves his paradise at Dalton, he is forced to finally face his problems and show Kurt who he really is. He's in for a tough year, dealing with a homophobic father, a mentally ill mother, permanent injuries, and badly-timed illness. Will he be able to cope? Rated for strong language, violence, and adult themes.
1. Spend some time with girls

Today my dad tells me, "I hope you know I'm not paying for you to go to gay school this year, Blaine. You need to spend more time around women."

My dad is some kind of accountant or banker or something. He's one of those very handsome and very masculine men who wear suits every day, makes women swoon just by smiling, and has absolutely no sense of humour or human decency.

I wonder why I didn't see this coming. "Dad…" I don't really know what to say that won't start a fight I don't want to start. "It's not a gay school. Dalton's the best school in the state. Come on. I got straight A's last year."

Dalton is my sanctuary from all of the things I hate and fear. It's an all-boys boarding school utopia that probably saved my life and I want to go back. I don't like living in my dad's house.

Dad scowls. "You spent the year singing and dancing with a bunch of dudes, Blaine. I don't think you know uncomfortable that makes me."

This guy forced me through twelve years of violin lessons and now he's pissed that I joined a glee club.

I say, "I'm a musician. That shouldn't make you uncomfortable."

We're eating breakfast in our kitchen and it's about a million degrees out already so it's impossible not to be uncomfortable right now.

Dad shakes his head. "When you played violin, you were a musician. The song and dance thing isn't music."

I can't play violin anymore because of nerve damage in my hand from being assaulted by my homophobic best friends at the last public school I went to.

I say, "Dad, I can't go back to Bellville. I can't."

He stares at me with that calculating, unfeeling gaze that always puts me on edge. I feel my heart starting to pound. "There are other schools in Lima, Blaine," he says, "The important thing is that you spend some time around girls."

"Why?" I ask, "Why is that so important to you? It's not going to change anything."

Sometimes I think things would be a lot easier if I hadn't inherited my dad's tendency to get angry and argue. My dad isn't the type of person who ever changes his mind or likes to put up with his 16-year-old son talking back.

He says, "Blaine, this is not up for debate. I need you at home this year, and I need you to stop pretending that what happened to you at Bellville was anyone's fault but your own. _End of discussion_!"

What happened to me at Bellville was a bunch of people I thought I could trust putting me in intensive care because I asked a boy to a dance, but yeah, I guess that was my fault.

"Fine!" I say, "You know what, dad? I'll pay my own way at Dalton."

Dad laughs. "You will, will you? Be my fucking guest. All I'm saying is I'm not paying."

"Fine," I say, "Fine."


	2. Dalton walls

I met my boyfriend at Dalton when he transferred there last year after being chased out of his public school by bullies just like I had a few months prior. Kurt is tall and pale and flamboyant and I love him and envy the fact that he had the courage to go back to his public school—something that scares me so senseless that I actually get dizzy thinking about it. Our relationship is controversial in a town like Lima, but in the context of my life, it's one of the most straightforward and comforting things I have.

Today Kurt and I meet at our favourite coffee shop, the Lima Bean, and he's wearing the least elaborate outfit I've ever seen him wear—shorts and t-shirt. It's unbelievably hot in Lima this summer.

He says, "It sucks that we won't be able to hang out as much when school starts. I'm gunna miss you."

I grimace. "I know," I say, "I know. You should come back to Dalton."

Kurt laughs. "Not gunna happen," he says, "How about you come to McKinley?"

I laugh and think about how nice it would be to see Kurt in the hallways of school again like I did when he used to be at Dalton.

Raising an eyebrow, Kurt's jaw drops a little. He's always very dramatic. "Oh my god," he says, "You're actually considering it, aren't you?"

I grin and shrug. "I dunno. I don't think I could leave Dalton. I'm too loyal to the Warblers. I love those guys."

Kurt rolls his eyes. He'd never been a big fan of our Dalton glee club. "Still," Kurt says, "You've said before that you regret running away from the bullies at your old school. I know that Dalton is your safe place, but maybe it's time to step outside of your comfort zone?"

Part of the reason I love Kurt so much is that he probably understands me better than I understand myself even though he only knows a small part of my story.

"I'll think about it," I say. I don't know why I don't tell him about Dad not paying for Dalton. Maybe I'm afraid if he knew he could too easily convince me to come to McKinley. And I don't even really know why that's a bad thing.

Kurt kisses me and says, "That's all I ask. Imagine how great we could be together in New Directions. You'd love it there. People have actual talent and actual personalities."

I've met a lot of Kurt's McKinley friends before, and they are great people, but I always feel like they never see me as anything but Blaine the Warbler or Kurt's Boyfriend. Like I'm this intangible non-person who they have no interest in actually knowing.

But that might be my Dalton walls talking. Dalton walls are things that kids who go to Dalton for too long build. We get so used to hanging out with each other in our perfect and magical utopia of acceptance where nobody will acknowledge any emotions except school spirit that we forget how to interact with real people. Kurt woke me up out of that last year, but Kurt is special and relatable and beautiful. It's harder for me to take down the Dalton walls around other people.

"And you really think that they'd just welcome a kid from a rival glee club into the mix?" I ask.

Kurt shrugs. "The Warblers welcomed me. I'll make sure the New Directions welcome you. But I'm not pressuring you. I'm just excited that you'd even consider it."

I nod. "Okay. I'll keep you posted."


	3. You're allowed to be scared

I go visit my mom every Thursday afternoon. She's lived in an extended care facility for mental health patients since I was nine years old, and I never miss my visit.

Today, Mom is sitting at the piano bench when I arrive. I know from old photographs that she used to be a musician, but I've never heard her play. She just sits at the bench and stares at the keys.

"Hi sweetie," she says when the nurse tells her I'm here. She doesn't look up.

"How are you, Mom?" I ask, "Did you get that painting done?"

My mom is a terrible artist and she knows it, but she likes to make elaborate paintings anyway. Mom says, "Yeah, it's done. Delightfully dreadful." She stops staring at the piano keys and slides off of the piano bench. She walks out of the room without even looking at me.

"I think she's gone to get the painting," the nurse assures me, "She'll be back."

I nod. "Of course," I say, and I wait.

Mom comes back carrying a large canvas, grinning sheepishly as she shows it to me. It's a childish and sloppy but highly detailed painting of the same scene she always paints: a house with a family standing outside of it, lined up shortest to tallest.

"Awesome," I laugh, giving her a thumbs up, and she laughs too, putting it down on a table and motioning for me to follow her to the couch in the corner. Mom is a tiny Filipino lady with long black hair and a beautiful smile. When she sits on the couch, the cushions almost swallow her whole, because she's so small.

I cross my legs and sit facing her. She asks, "So what's new with you, Blaine?"

Shrugging, I say, "Dad wants me to go back to public school. I'm freaking out a little."

Mom takes my hand and says, "Oh Blaine, don't freak out. You're ready for it. You can go to Kurt's school, can't you?"

"Yeah," I say, "McKinley. But I'd rather go to Dalton."

Frowning, Mom says, "I'm sure Dalton's wonderful, Blaine, but if your dad doesn't want you there, you'll have to accept that. I know you'd love to spend more time around Kurt."

"I think I can afford the tuition on my own if I keep singing at funerals."

Mom squeezes my hand and shakes her head. "Dalton is a safe place," she says, "They put everyone in uniforms and scrape away everything that makes you unique. You got to be happy and feel safe without ever having to deal with what makes you different. But I think you need to move on. Go to McKinley."

I don't know how my mom knows so much about a place she's never been, but she's absolutely right.

I say, "There's nothing wrong with feeling happy and safe. I need that in my life."

Mom says, "You started at Dalton when you were hurt, miserable, and scared. You needed it then. You don't need it now. You've got your confidence back. Now you need to go back into the real world and learn to be happy and safe in an environment where everyone doesn't necessarily idolize you like the boys at Dalton do."

She lets go of my hand and ruffles my hair. I say, "The boys at Dalton don't idolize me."

She says, "Yes they do. Because you're special. And you should be proud of that."

I say, "Well anyway, I'm perfectly comfortable with myself in the real world and otherwise, Mom."

"Of course you are," Mom says, "You always have been. I don't think anyone has ever doubted that. But there are a lot of people out there who _aren't_ comfortable with you, and I think you use Dalton to avoid dealing with that."

I say, "I've dealt with it. If anything, the fact that my sexuality excludes me from ever being universally liked and accepted gives e licence to stop _trying_ to be accepted and liked. I don't have to care what anyone thinks."

"That's a very articulate answer, Blaine, but it's bullshit. You don't go through what you went through last year and really believe that what other people think doesn't affect you."

My stomach flips and I don't have a response.

Mom shakes her head and gives me a weirdly affectionate smile. She says, "You're terrified to going to the same school as your boyfriend. And that's okay. You're allowed to be scared."

I say, "I think McKinley's pretty safe, actually. Kurt's got a lot of awesome friends there."

She says, "Good. But I didn't mean that you were afraid of bullies."

"So what am I supposed to be afraid of?"

She shrugged. "That's for you to figure out."

I say, "I'm not afraid of McKinley. I want to go to Dalton because I don't want to live with Dad, and I don't know want to leave the Warblers."

Mom says, "Okay Blaine. But promise me you'll _really_ think about it, okay?"

I nod, and a nurse approaches us. "It's time for you to see Dr. Harris, Christine," she says.

My mom grimaces, closes her eyes, takes a few deep breaths, and says, "Okay. I'll see you next week, Blaine?"

I nod again and say goodbye.

Nobody has ever given me a straight answer about why my mother lives in a mental hospital, but I know that she has good days and bad days. When I visit her on bad days, she cries a lot and can't make eye contact, but when I visit her on good days like today, she makes me realize how little I actually know about myself.


	4. Our buddying love

I move back into my dorm at Dalton, and the first night, I sleep better than I have all summer. I'm rooming with one of my buddies from glee club, Thad, and he's a welcome change from my dad. My classes are ridiculously challenging as usual, but it feels so good to have structure back in my life after a lazy summer that I don't mind one bit.

I'm in a better mood than I've been in weeks when I meet Kurt after school, but as soon as I see him, everything shifts and suddenly I just feel guilty.

He sips his coffee and says nothing, and I start to understand what my mom thought I was afraid of at McKinley.

"You're quiet," I comment.

"No, I'm being passive aggressive," he replies, "You promised that by the first day of school you'd make a decision, and yet there you sit, cute as ever, but still in your Warbler's blazer."

I shake my head, unable to hide my grin at his adorable way of calling me cute. "I just can't bail on the Warblers," I say, "Those guys are my friends!"

"Okay fine," says Kurt, "One final sales pitch though: If you stay at Dalton, you and I are competitors."

I nod, still grinning, "It's true," I concede.

"And I'm just not sure that our buddying love can survive that."

He is so adorable. I say, "Let me get this straight: I have to transfer because you're just afraid that I'm going to beat you sectionals?"

"No, I'm afraid that _I'm _gunna beat _you_."

"Oooh," I say. He is so adorable!

"And I know what that does to you—when I win."

I laugh because he's actually right. I really like winning.

Kurt shrugs and drops his adorable teasing demeanor. "Look," he says, "I just… I just want to see you more." He shrugs and smiles sheepishly. "I want my senior year to be magic, and the only way that's going to happen is if I get to spend every minute of every day with you." He takes a sip of his coffee and waits for my response.

I survey him, feeling butterflies in my stomach. I take a deep breath and reach over to squeeze his hand. "Kurt, I know you know it's not that simple. I like living at Dalton. Me and my dad don't get along, and it's nice to just live with my friends instead."

He nods, frowning a little. "Blaine, if you're staying at Dalton to avoid your dad… I mean, I'm sorry, but that's just fucked up."

I groan. Kurt has such a phenomenally supportive and wonderful father that it's impossible for him to understand my relationship with my dad. I say, "It's not, not really. I mean, it's not like that's the only reason. I love the Warblers."

In his adorably cynical way, Kurt says, "You love the way the Warblers love you, Blaine. I went there. I know. But that's not the same thing as loving them."

I blink. "Fine," I say, glad that the conversation isn't lingering on my dad. "So I like attention. I like getting to sing solos and I like to be liked. That's not a crime, and you're the exact same."

He nods, grinning. "I know. Trust me, I know. But come on. You can't tell me it doesn't suck not to get to hang out all the time. I miss you already."

"Of course," I say, "Of course." I'm starting to get a sinking, cringing feeling in my stomach, because I suddenly realize exactly why I'm resisting McKinley, and it freaks me out a little. I'm not scared of McKinley—I'm scared of Kurt. Or rather, I'm scared of loving Kurt… Transferring to his school would be a huge step in our relationship. I don't think I've ever really thought about where our relationship was going… we've just been hanging out and having fun.

There is so much about me that he doesn't even know. If I transfer to his school, I have to be sure that I'm ready to commit to him. And I don't know if I'm ready for that.

I just don't know.


	5. I need to punch something

The invoice for this semester's tuition shows up under my dorm room door tonight, and I look at the number and just start to cry. I sit on the floor of my dorm room and cry, which isn't something I'm prone to doing.

I think that deep down I was always planning to eventually transfer to McKinley, but seeing that number on the invoice and realizing that I have no choice but to do so immediately is ridiculously overwhelming. I don't fucking want to move back in with my dad, and the thought of how happy Kurt is going to be breaks my heart. I don't want to send him the wrong message. I don't even fucking know what message I do want to send him. I don't fucking know how to deal with feelings. I need to punch something.

I wipe the tears off of my face and go down to the gym. I put on my gloves. I started boxing a little more than a year ago at the recommendation of the therapist I was seeing at the time. My doctor was furious when he found out, because it's terrible for my already fucked up hand to slam it into a punching bag over and over again, but I do it anyway because it helps me think.

I start punching. I don't know why I'm freaking out so much. I don't know why I'm so afraid. Kurt and I have a great relationship. I honestly think I love him. But I feel like I've been so consumed by my own infatuation and stupid need to impress him that I haven't really shared a lot of really important parts of my life with him. I met him when he was in a dark and scary place, dealing with a bully, and I was his knight in shining armour, talking him through it and showing him that guys like us could be confident and happy.

I'm very outgoing, so most of the time I can convince people that I have no insecurities. I think that Kurt knows that I'm not nearly as put-together as I pretend I am—he's seen me make a fool out of myself more than once—but I still feel like he looks up to me. I hide from my own problems by helping him through his. And I know that if I go to McKinley, that's going to have to change, because I'm going to have to approach my relationship with Kurt much more seriously. And I don't know if I'm ready.

Kurt knows that I don't get along with my dad, but he doesn't have a clue how abusive that relationship really is. He knows that I have an older brother, but he doesn't have a clue who he is or how angry I get whenever I think about him. He knows that I'm close with my mother, but he doesn't have a clue where she lives or how damaged she is. He knows I got bullied and beat up a lot in freshmen year, but he doesn't have a clue how fucked up I actually got. He knows that I'm a musician, but he doesn't have a clue that I'm more than a singer. He knows that I'm an insomniac, but he doesn't have a clue how little I actually sleep.

I don't know why I don't talk about this stuff with Kurt. I don't know if I can't talk about it with him because I don't trust him, or because I'm too proud to admit my insecurities, or if I can't talk about it because I just can't talk about it. The entire dynamic of our relationship will shift if I start talking to him about my problems, and I need to figure out of our relationship is strong enough to stay afloat when that shift happens. I need to figure it out.

It's not like my life is completely fucked up and awful and I'm keeping huge and shocking secrets. It shouldn't be so hard for me to open up to Kurt, and it shouldn't freak me out this much to realize that I have to. I don't even know why I think I have to. Why can't I just transfer to McKinley and carry on with the relationship the way it's always been? Why does anything have to change?

But how can I leave my current life behind to be closer to my boyfriend without knowing that I can trust him to still love me even when he finds out how insecure and scared I really am?

"Blaine!"

I'm startled out of my reverie when my roommate, Thad, taps me on the shoulder and calls my name. I've been punching for so long that my hands are burning and the air is scraping through my lungs. I jump and drop my arms. "Fuck!" I say, "You scared me."

He steps back and laughs nervously, his eyebrows pinched a little in concern. "Sorry. You need to slow down, Blaine. You're scaring me. Where's your inhaler?"

I'm wheezing and it feels like I've been punching myself in the chest. "Fuck," I mutter, staggering a little as I pull off my boxing gloves.

Thad says, "Do I even want to know who you're imagining that punching bag is?"

I cough and find my inhaler in my locker, laughing sheepishly. "Nobody," I say.

I sit down on the bench and force a long inhale of medication down my airways. I hold it in my lungs while Thad tosses me a bottle of water. He says, "Well if you need to talk about anything, Blaine… you seem kind of upset. I'm here."

Coughing a little as the medication leaves my lungs, I roll my eyes sheepishly, and say, "I'm just a mess right now. Give me a minute."

I swallow a few mouthfuls of water and wipe the sweat off of my face now that the punching has stopped, I feel like crying again. I ask Thad, "Do straight guys ever get ridiculously emotional, or is this just a gay thing?"

Thad smiles in a strangely sympathetic way. He says, "No man, that's just a human thing. What's going on, man?"

I shrug. "You'll have to get a new roommate," I tell him, "I'm leaving Dalton."

Thad's jaw drops. "Are you kidding me?" he asks "No fucking way. You can't."

I cough. "I'm serious. My dad won't pay my tuition and there's no way I can pay it on my own."

He shakes his head. "Fuck that," he says, "The Warblers will do a fundraiser or something. We need you here, Blaine."

"No," I say, "That wouldn't be cool. I need to figure out my own life. You guys will do fine without me."

"Blaine, what'll the Warblers do without you? Jesus. This _sucks_!"

"Do you really think I'd leave if I didn't think you'd be fine without me?" I ask.

Thad shrugs. "I dunno man. You know you're our star. Fuck. So you're really leaving?"

I say, "Yeah."

"Where will you go?"

"McKinley, I think," I say, "That's where Kurt goes."

"Oh." Thad nods. "You two are still dating, huh?"

I nod and confess, "But I don't know if I'm really ready to face transferring to his school and having to hang out with all of his friends. I'm freaking out a little."

Thad laughs. "Dude, you'll be fine. People love you."

I say, "I dunno, man. I dunno. I'm freaking out."

Thad says, "Blaine, I remember last year when you first transferred here. You were like a scared puppy that had been kicked too many times. And we still loved you. There's no way the McKinley kids won't love you now."

I laugh. "Was I really that pathetic?" I ask.

Grinning, Thad says, "Not really. I mean, you're Blaine Anderson. You've always been charming. But you were certainly reserved. You wouldn't really make eye contact with anyone. And the first time you told us you were gay, you looked like you expected us to shoot you on the spot."

I remember that moment very clearly. I'd promised myself not to go back into the closet at Dalton, and I knew that Dalton had a no-tolerance harassment policy, but I was still convinced that people were going to kill me or something.

I ask, "Honestly though, I've never been able to figure out how all of you guys can be so cool about everything. I mean, when you found out I was gay, did you really just not care? Are you really cool with sharing a room with someone you know is attracted to men?"

Thad says, "I'm cool with it, but it's not like it's a complete non-issue like a lot guys here pretend. You gotta understand that most of us grew up at Dalton and we're fiercely proud of the reputation and atmosphere of acceptance and love that this school has. We'll pretend that we love everyone to protect the school's magic."

"Yeah," I say, "This I know. It's really fucking cool. It probably saved my life."

Nodding, Thad says, "When you came here, everyone could see that you were struggling with stuff. And I mean, I think you came out within your first week here, so it's not like you were keeping a secret for very long, but the moment you told us, everything made sense. We could all sense that you'd been hurt and you'd been hurt bad because of your sexuality. You needed Dalton to accept you so we did. And yeah, it's a little confusing and a little uncomfortable for some of the guys, but if any of the Warblers are remotely homophobic, they keep it themselves."

Fuck. I am going to miss this guy—all the Warblers—so fucking much.

"Fuck," I say, "I am going to miss you guys so fucking much."

Thad says, "We'll miss you more. Trust me. We'll miss you more."

I am so fucking confused right now.


	6. Prove you're ready

Ten minutes after I enroll at McKinley, a bunch of cheerleaders approach me.

"Hey hot stuff," says a Latina brunette, "You're new here?"

I blink. She's taller than me and her eyes are scary. "Yeah. I'm Blaine."

She nods, grinning wickedly, and says, "Yeah you are. You're Kurt's little boyfriend, huh?"

"Yeah," I say. I recognize her as one of the girls in New Directions.

"I'm Santana," she says, "And me and my friends want to help you make your entrance to McKinley with style. Break you into the New Directions, you know?"

I raise my eyebrow. "And what do you have in mind?" I ask.

She says, "I'm thinking maybe a little Tom Jones? You know, a little song and dance routine on the steps at lunchtime?"

I laugh out loud. "Are you serious?"

"Look, everyone in the New Directions already knows how talented you are, Blaine. We've competed against you, remember?"

I have no idea where she's going with this, but I nod. "Alright…"

She says, "But if you think people like Rachel and Finn are going to trust a new kid from a rival glee club right away, you've got to prove to them that you understand what New Directions is about."

"And what is New Directions about?" I ask.

"It's about being an outsider," she says, "And don't pretend like that isn't going to be hard for you, Mr. Smooth. Maybe at Dalton it was cool to be in glee, but here it's social suicide. Are you ready for that?"

My stomach churns a little, but I shrug. "I'm a gay kid in Ohio wearing a bow tie to school," I tell her, "Do you really think I care?"

She laughs and it's the first thing she's done that seems genuine. "Well ," she says, "If you want anyone in New Directions to believe that the charming and handsome queen of Dalton is really changing loyalties, you're going to have to prove that you're ready to embrace being slushied and slammed into lockers like the rest of us."

It's not like Kurt hadn't warned me about the slushies and the locker slamming, but it's also not like that doesn't piss me off. But I say, "So we do a song and dance number on the stairs outside at lunchtime in front of everyone?"

Santana nods. "And me and the girls will dance back-up."

I have a feeling that I'm comfortable enough with my talent to pull this off without even feeling embarrassed. I agree to it.

I'm excited.


	7. Your friends are going to hate me

The first time I see Kurt at McKinley, he's standing at his locker spraying hairspray into his hair and it is ridiculously endearing. I'm ridiculously excited to approach him and get his reaction when he sees me without my blazer on. I love him, and for now I've decided that's what matters. If I dwell on the future and or my past, it's just going to fuck up our right now love.

"Hey you," I say, leaning against the locker beside him to display my street clothes in their full glory.

He turns to me and smiles. "Well aren't you a sight for these sore eyes."

I grin and look down at my black t-shirt, waiting for him to comment, but he just grins at me, his eyebrows pinched a bit like they get when he's stressing out. "Bad day?" I ask.

He sighs. "Uhg," he says, turning to walk down the hall. "Bad week more like it."

It's only the first week of his senior year, and Kurt is already freaking out about getting into college. I don't think he has any idea how special his talents are. There's no way he's not getting into whatever school he wants.

I follow him. He says, "Wait, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at Warbler practice? You know, putting the fine tuning touches on a new Katy Perry showstopper?"

His sarcastic resentment is delightful, and I can't stop grinning. I say, "Okay, for someone who loves clothes so much, I can't believe you haven't noticed that I'm not in my Warbler outfit!" I gesture down at myself and grin even wider, excited to make his day.

He freezes and looks me up and down. "Wait." He points at me, suddenly looking just as giddy as I feel. He raises his eyebrows questioningly.

I shrug and nod.

"Ooh!" He jumps forward to give me a huge hug. I hug him back and breathe in the beauty of this moment. I really have missed him at Dalton.

"Wait!" Kurt suddenly looks terrified. "You didn't do this for me, did you? Because I mean, if you did this for me, it'd be very romantic for one, but I mean, it could lead to resentment, which could lead to anger, which could lead to a horrible, horrible, nasty breakup…"

"Hey, hey!" I interrupt him, waving my hands in front of his panicking face, "I came here for me. Because I can't stand to be apart from the person I love."

And even though it's a lot more complicated than that, when I say the words, they feel true. All of the guilt and anxiety that being at Dalton gave me has disappeared.

Kurt smiles, eyes locked into mine, and visibly relaxed. "Well," he says, "I guess we'll just have to find a way to ease you into the New Directions now huh."

I smile, and say, "I already have that figured out. Follow me."

He raises and eyebrows and I walk away, heading out to the steps.

We stand at the top of them, and I tell him, "Being in New Directions is about embracing who you are, no matter how ridiculous you look, and no matter how many people don't like it, right?"

Kurt nods. I say, "Well who I am is a performer and a bit of an attention whore, and I think that what I'm about to do proves that I'm ready to face whatever repercussions being that guy in this school may be. Watch." I motion to the drummer down below, and the music starts.

Kurt looks taken aback and slightly embarrassed, but he can't stop grinning when I start dancing.

Most of the New Directions kids are sitting at a picnic table at the bottom of the steps, and they're all staring at me, taken aback, as I start singing. Tom Jones' It's Not Unusual. The cheerleaders join in, and I see grins and I see people tapping their toes.

I love performing, and even though I know that most people watching me think I'm crazy, I also know that most of them are enjoying it, and that they only wish they had the nerve. All of the New Directions girls are practically swooning.

Fuck, I love performing.

The song ends and everyone claps. I grin widely and just as I'm about to take a bow, the purple piano beside me bursts into flame, and ridiculous silence fills the air.

Everyone stares at me with their mouths hanging open, and I am so taken aback that I just stand there.

Beside me, Santana smirks a little.

After a few moments of stunned silence, Finn and Puck swear and shout at someone to grab a fire extinguisher. I stand and watch as they put out the fire, glare at me, and walk away.

"What the fuck, Blaine?" asks Rachel. Kurt is staring at me in confusion.

I put my hands up. "I have no idea what just happened." I turn to Santana, who is still smirking. "What the fuck just happened?" I ask.

Santana grins condescendingly and pats me on the arm. She says nothing.

The bell rings and everyone starts going to class. Kurt takes my arm and says, "Don't worry about it. I know Santana's behind this. If there's one thing you need to know about this school, it's don't trust Santana."

I feel like a fucking idiot. "Jesus Christ," I say, "Your friends are going to hate me."

Kurt says, "Don't be ridiculous. We all know it was Santana and Quinn. Do not worry about it."

But I feel like a fucking idiot.


	8. I don't know why I do the things I do

After all of the internal drama and anxiety I just got over about coming to McKinley, I'm not about to let one bitchy cheerleader's prank bring me down. She might have only been saying what she said about proving my willingness to be ostracized to get me to do what she wanted, but I took it to heart. And the fact that now I'm going to work even harder to get people to trust me only makes me more determined not to care about popularity.

I am Blaine Anderson, and when I was at Dalton, I really figured out who that guy is, and it feels good to be him. I'm not going to stop being the Blaine Anderson I was at Dalton just because people here aren't going to like him as much as the Warblers did.

Or at least that's what I tell myself.

So I go to see Mr. Schuester, the director of the McKinley glee club. I knock on his office door, I can tell that he recognises me when he looks up.

"Uh… Blaine, right? What are you doing here?"

I grin at him, feeling a little awkward. I say, "Yeah. Uh… okay, so basically, I go here now."

Mr. Schue's jaw drops a little, and I can tell that he's taken aback. "You go to McKinley?"

I nod. "Yeah. And okay so…" I grimace a little and admit, "So I want to join the New Directions. And I got a bunch of Cheerios to help me do a sort of audition number out on the steps today…"

Mr. Schue says, "You got Cheerios to do a number with you? On your first day here?" He sounds surprised, and I realize how stupid I had been to believe they'd really just wanted to help me.

"Well," I say, "Yeah, and I thought they were being cool and stuff, but… well I don't actually know what happened." I shrug. "All I know is that when I stopped singing, a piano burst into flames. And your Glee club is super pissed at me now I think."

Mr. Schue looks furious. "Don't worry about it, Blaine," he says, "I'll deal with the Cheerios."

I say, "Okay. I just want to make sure you know that I had nothing to do with that."

Mr. Schue says, "Seriously, don't worry about it. If you want to join New Directions, we'll be overjoyed to have you. But Blaine, I gotta ask… why leave Dalton? I know you and Kurt are close, but trust me, choosing your boyfriend over your friends is a choice you could really end up regretting."

I grimace. "It's not like that," I say, "Dalton was my sanctuary for a year when I was struggling. It's a good place to hide from yourself behind matching blazers and a vigorous curriculum. But if I've learned anything from Kurt, it's that I can't keep hiding from who I am. So I'm here."

Mr. Schue gives me a strange look like he doesn't quite believe what I'm saying. He says, "I just hope that Kurt isn't pressuring you into anything you're not ready for."

I smile. "No," I say, "Never. I mean yeah, Kurt's really excited about it, but it was never his idea. Tuition at Dalton is steep, and I couldn't possibly expect my parents to continue paying that tuition now that I'm back on my feet and ready to face public school again."

Mr. Schue nods, still surveying me. He says, "Well listen, Blaine—come to the choir room for rehearsal at four o'clock this afternoon, alright?"

I grin. "Excellent. Hopefully people won't be too pissed about the piano thing."

But people are pissed about the piano thing. When Mr. Schue introduces me to the group, everyone stares at me and shifts uncomfortably.

"Is there a problem?" Mr. Schue asks.

Kurt's stepbrother Finn says, "I just want Blaine to know that we're not the Warblers. You know, we're not into the bells, the whistles, or the ball-hogging."

I'd been expecting this, but I still feel the need to defend myself. "I'm sorry," I say, "Did I do something wrong?"

"Well yeah," Finn says, "You set a bonfire in our courtyard."

"Actually, doorknob," Santana cuts in, "That was an act of political protest."

"Which leads me to my next order of business," Mr. Schue says, "Santana, you need to leave."

Santana raises her eyebrows. Mr. Schue says, "It was you and the Cheerios who set fire to our piano. How could you do that?"

She protests. "Mr. Schue, Sue made me."

Sue is the cheerleading coach. I've met her. Her sister used to live in the same facility as my mom. Kurt tells me that she has it out for the glee club.

"Brittany didn't do it," Mr. Schue counters, pointing to the other cheerleader in the glee club, a tall blonde with a ponytail.

Brittany says, "Well yeah, I was gunna help, but I dunno. I'm a water sign, so…" she shrugs.

Mr. Schue looks at Santana and says, "You're banned from glee. Don't come back unless you can be as loyal to the club as the rest of the people in this room." He points to the door.

Santana sits in her chair, clearly stunned. She doesn't say anything for a moment, and then she purses her lips, tilts her head, and says, "You know what? I could use a break." She walks away.

After rehearsal, I see her sitting against some lockers, staring at the floor. I sit down next to her and she looks at me and rolls her eyes.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

I say, "I just want to know if you were trying to get everyone here to hate me, or if I was just a pawn in your evil plan?"

She laughs and says, "Please. That had nothing to do with you. That was an errand for Sue. Don't flatter yourself."

"So why choose me? The new kid? People here were already going to hate me because I'm gay, and now you've just made me piss off the one group in this school where I might have been accepted."

Santana shrugs. "That's not my problem, Blaine. Fuck you. You're the only guy on the planet who could pull off that number you just did on the steps. I just made a legend at this school. Finn and Puck were going to hate you anyway."

I laugh, "Why?"

She rolls her eyes and says, "Because you're ridiculously talented and ridiculously good-looking and ridiculously gay."

I stare at her, and she laughs.

I say, "Finn and I have hung out before. He's Kurt's stepbrother. I know he's not homophobic."

Santana says, "Maybe not. But the only gay guy he's used to is Kurt, and let's face it, Kurt is so flamingly effeminate that it's easy for guys like Finn and Puck to just place him in a category with us girls and ignore his gender."

I laugh a little, and she grins. "But it's not so easy with you," she says, "You're masculine. They can't separate you from your gender. They don't want to be homophobic, but straight guys never have an easy time wrapping their heads around dudes kissing dudes. They don't know how to process it. You scare them." I say, "That's ridiculous."

She shrugs. "But it's true. Come on. You have to have thought about this. And it doesn't help that you're handsome and athletic and charming and talented and everything they wish they were. They're ridiculously jealous of you and terrified of their jealousy, because you're not even a sexual competitor. Those guys were always going to look for a reason not to like you. All I did was provide it. But guess what? Mr. Schue took it away. Everyone knows it was me."

I say, "Well why did you do it?"

She shrugs. "I don't know why I do half the things I do, Blaine."


	9. Lucy is dead

It's weird to start at a new school a week into the semester. I don't have a problem with meeting new people, but when they've all already settled into pattern, it sucks to have to be the new kid.

I'm taking AP senior calculus, and during my first class the teacher tells everyone to partner up to work on the homework. I look around and everyone already knows who their partner is going to be because they've all already been doing this every class for a week.

But there's a girl at the back of the room who sits by herself, so I go back to join her. She's got badly dyed pink hair and she's staring at the ceiling like she'd rather be anywhere else. I recognise her.

""Hey—Lucy, right?" I sit down next to her and she looks up at me abruptly.

"What did you just call me?" she snaps.

I blink and unconsciously slide my chair back a little, surprised by her harsh tone. With a note of uncertainty, I say, "Sorry. I thought you were someone else."

Her expression softens, and she says, "No. Sorry. You're right. But I go by Quinn now."

I frown. "Quinn. Okay. Fabray, right?"

She nods "Yeah. Hi Blaine."

I grin, glad that she remembers me.

Lucy Fabray was a year older than me at Bellville, but Quinn Fabray has completely killed the girl I remember. Lucy had been a chubby brunette with a huge nose, wide glasses, and terrible acne. I remember this because in middle school everyone used to pick on her.

Everyone.

She asks, "What are you doing in senior calculus? Aren't you a junior?"

I shrug sheepishly. "Yeah. But the math curriculums at Dalton are accelerated. I got ahead a little."

Also, I'm just a complete math nerd.

"Oh." She doesn't seem interested in continuing our conversation, but I am. Lucy Fabray wasn't a name or a face I was ever likely to forget.

"When did you leave Bellville?" I ask, "I didn't realize you were going here now."

She narrows her eyes and says, "I transferred here after eighth grade. So it's been a long time."

I think she's annoyed that I hadn't noticed she was gone. I'd been at Bellville for another three years after she left.

I nod. "Cool," I say, "You look great, by the way."

She really does. She's lost a lot of weight, and I suspect that she's had a nose job.

Quinn blushes, but she seems annoyed. "Thanks," she says, her tone a little bit hard, "Lots has changed since Bellville."

I nod. "Yeah. Fucking Bellville. I'm so glad I got out of there."

She raises an eyebrow and rolls her eyes. "Yeah," she says, "I'm sure Bellville was really hard for you." Her voice is deeply sarcastic.

I don't really know what to say to her. Because I know that Bellville was hell for her. I helped make it that way. But Bellville was hell for me too, later, and I've always wanted to apologize to Lucy.

I shrug. I don't know what to say.

We're both quiet for a minute, and then she says, "You realize that you were a complete asshole to me, right? I mean, just… you remember, right?"

My heart flutters, and I nod. "Yeah," I say, "I was. I think about that a lot. I'm sorry."

She rolls her eyes. "I'm sure you're very sorry."

She's so passive aggressive that I don't even know how to respond.

She says, "I know you're gay now and you probably took a bunch of crap for it at Bellville so now you think you can relate to Lucy, but I'm really not interested in being friends, okay? Lucy died a long time ago."

I get the feeling that Quinn Fabray isn't interested in being _anyone's_ friend. I say, "Okay. But I am sorry."

She rolls her eyes. "Just don't hurt Kurt. He's special."

I agree.


	10. The shaky notes of avoided dreams

I love glee club because music and performance makes everything better, even if some of the tension between me and other glee club members makes things stressful. Most of the New Directions kids are very welcoming, and I'm outgoing enough that fitting in isn't tough, but I haven't made any effort to really get to know anyone other than Kurt. I'm still uncertain how people feel about me, and I don't want to step on any toes. I try not to call attention to myself.

But today we're singing The Verve's Bittersweet Symphony, which is one of my favourite songs, and Artie has the lead, which is perfect for his voice, but I'm a little jealous.

Then Mr. Schue says, "We could get someone from the orchestra to play violin for this, but what would be really cool would be if we had one of you on violin and include that in the choreography. Do any of you play?"

My stomach does flip flops and I feel an unexpected wave of emotion. I could probably pull off. I could probably do it. But what if I can't? And what if it's too depressing to even try?

"Blaine, you play violin," Quinn suddenly pipes up when nobody else says anything, "Aren't you some kind of prodigy or something?"

My heart drops and I stare at Quinn. Of course she would remember. Back at Bellville, I used to play for the school all the time.

Kurt says, "What? No he doesn't! Blaine, you don't play violin, do you?"

"Uh—I—well…"

"Oh come on, Blaine," Quinn says, "You need to stop pretending you don't want to be the centre of attention. We won't hate you. I know you're a brilliant violinist."

Mr. Schue says, "Great. Blaine, grab that violin on the shelf. I'll get you the sheet music."

My jaw is still hanging open. Kurt says, "Blaine, why didn't you tell me you played?" He looks delighted. I feel sick.

When I was a kid, my dad put me in violin lessons, and I excelled. I passed all of my conservatory exams at a record age in our town and spent a lot of elementary school and middle school winning music festivals. I _loved_ playing the violin.

But a year and a half ago, a kid names Jackson dislocated both of my shoulders and stood on my hands while his friends beat the crap out of me. Every bone in both of my hands was shattered, and most of the tendons on my right hand got torn. They thought they might have to amputate some fingers, but fortunately that never happened. I recovered almost full use of my left hand, barring some stiffness, but I have pretty extensive nerve damage in my right. I have no use of my pinkie or ring finger, and only a limited range of motion in my middle finger.

It's not a big deal in my everyday life, because I can do almost everything with my left hand or my thumb and pointer on my right, but I certainly can't play the violin the way I used to. It's difficult to even hold a bow properly with my right hand, and I'll never be able to master violin fingerings with my left hand the way I did with my right. My left hand is just too stiff and uncoordinated. So I barely ever play anymore, and when I do, it's depressing.

But I stand up and get the violin. The violin part for Bittersweet Symphony isn't difficult—it's just repetitive. I might be able to pull it off, and if I can't, maybe I'll finally be forced to find the courage to actually talk about my injuries.

Everyone claps for me as I quickly tune the violin. It's a right-handed violin, which is what I need, but after a lifetime of playing left-handed, it feels strange in my arms.

"Alright Blaine, do you think you can sight read it, or should we let you practice?" Mr. Schuester asks.

I still feel sick, but I get the best grip I can on the bow and say, "I'm good to go sight reading."

I figure that with other instruments playing and people singing over top of me, I can disguise any fuck ups better.

So the cello starts playing, and then I join in. My first few notes are shaky and my left hand fingers slide awkwardly over the strings to find the right positions, but I find a slightly uncomfortable pattern soon enough. It's the same twelve-note phrase repeated over and over, and I can handle it.

The choir joins in and it sounds pretty cool. Artie is a phenomenal singer, and I don't know if I've ever noticed before.

When the song ends, everyone claps, and Mr. Schue says, "Fan_tas_tic, Blaine. This will work very well once we get some choreography in there."

He's obviously very excited, but my hand is cramping up from holding the bow, and the completely uninspired performance I just gave is making me sad.

When we move on to the next song and I return to my seat next to Kurt, he kisses me quickly, and says, "That was _hot_. I can't believe I never knew you played! Why haven't I heard that before?"

I shrug uncomfortably. I wish I could go back a half hour in time and just tell Quinn she was crazy and that I didn't play.

Kurt frowns, like he can tell I'm upset, but he lets it go since we're in the middle of rehearsal.


	11. Everything is terrifying and I hate it

I promised to give Kurt a ride home after rehearsal, but I don't wait for him before I go out to my car because I want to punch something and I can't do it because if I'm going to be doing this violin part I can't fuck up my hands any more.

I sit in my car and start to cry.

Only I'm not really crying so much as freaking the fuck out.

My heart is beating so hard that I can feel it pulsating in my throat. My arms are shaking. My skin feels like pins and needles. I wonder if I'm having an allergic reaction or a heart attack or a panic attack. I think I'm about to die and I can't breathe and I can't see and everything is terrifying and spinning and I hate it I hate it I hate it.

I might be dying.

I can't breathe.

I can't see.

Everything is terrifying.

Everything is spinning.

I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it.

I hear the car door open and I see Kurt as though through a tunnel. I'm hyperventilating and I don't know how to stop and it's irrational and ridiculous but realizing that only makes it worst and I think that my heart is going to pound out of my chest and I might be dying and I can't breathe and I can't see and everything is terrifying and spinning and I hate it I hate it I hate it.

"Oh my god! Blaine!" I hear Kurt but I'm can't really see him.

"Where's your inhaler?"

He thinks I'm having an asthma attack. I shake my head and try harder to breathe deeper but trying only makes it harder.

Kurt finds my inhaler where I always leave it in the cup holder and tries to get me to take it.

"No!" I say, pushing him away and squeezing my eyes closed. I want him to go away. I want everything to go away. I can't breathe. I can't see. I might be dying. I don't know what to do and I don't know why this is happening.

Kurt is saying something, but I can't hear him. I'm having an anxiety attack. I just have to relax. I just have to breathe. I'm not dying. I'm just panicking. I try to remember what my therapist told me to do when this happens. I listen to my heartbeats and feel the heat and hot flush of my blood and I let the panic run through my body. I try to process the fear. I try to be brave. I try to breathe.

I can literally feel the anxiety ebbing and flowing in my body and I hate it I hate it I hate it.

"Blaine, it's okay. You're okay." Kurt's voice starts getting more clear. The world starts slowing down. I sit and I just breathe.

Tentatively, Kurt asks, "Do you want me to get Ms. Pillsbury or Mr. Schue or the nurse or something?"

I shake my head slowly, and the movement sends waves of dizziness up and down my spine. "No. Don't tell anybody."

"Okay." Kurt's normally high-pitched and animated voice is very subdued and very gentle. He rubs my back. I put my head on the steering wheel and just sit there breathing until my heart beat slows back down and my head stops spinning and my vision clears and I know for sure that I'm not dying.

After a while, Kurt and I are just sitting there, him rubbing my back and me trying to wrap my head around what just happened.

I mean, I know that I have emotional issues that I haven't dealt with fully, but I didn't think they were deep enough to warrant a panic attack with that much intensity.

Finally, after who knows how much time has passed, Kurt asks, "Do you want to talk about it?"

I hadn't thought that I did, but as soon as he asks, I realize that I do.

I want to talk about it.

I ask, "Have you ever had a panic attack, Kurt?"

He shakes his head. I say, "It feels like everything is ending and you're dying and you can't see and you can't breathe and everything is terrifying and everything is spinning and you can't make it stop."

He's giving me puppy dog eyes of sympathy. I think his heart is breaking, seeing me like this. I say, "And you know it's completely irrational and ridiculous, but it just won't stop."

Kurt says, "So this isn't the first time this has happened to you?"

I shrug, "It's the first time in a long time."

He asks, "Do you want to talk about what caused it? You just disappeared as soon as Mr. Schue dismissed us. I thought you'd left without me."

I roll down my window and say, "Yeah. It's just… I mean, there's a reason why I never told you I play violin, Kurt. I don't know why I even agreed to play today. It brings back some ugly stuff in my head."

He nodded."You did seem really upset after Bittersweet Symphony." He's speaking so gently, like he's afraid I'm going to start freaking out again.

I nod too. He waits for me to start talking, and I try to figure out how to explain all of the things I'm feeling.

"Why don't you play violin anymore, Blaine?" Kurt prompts me quietly.

It's a good place to start. I hold both of my hands flat out in front of me, palms down. "Have you ever noticed that I don't use my right hand very much?"

Kurt raises his eyebrows and frowns. He thinks about it. "I mean, I know that you're left-handed, but…" He looks confused.

I say, "Look." I try to make a fist with my right hand and show him that I can't. "Nerve damage. I can't use these two fingers at all." I point to my pink and ring finger. "And I can only move this one this far." I demonstrate the small range of motion in my middle finger.

Kurt's jaw drops as he watches the awkward motion of my hand. "Holy fuck, Blaine," he says, "I've held your hand _how_ many times? And I never even noticed. Why haven't you told me about this before? What _happened?_"

I squeeze my right hand with my left and shrug, sheepish. "I've sort of told you about it," I say, "I told you that I got beat up in my freshmen year at Bellville. They stopped me from fighting back by dislocating my shoulders and standing on my hands. Jumping on my hands. Destroying my hands."

Kurt goes pale. "Oh my _god_," he whispers, "I had no idea it was that serious. They hurt you really bad?"

I say, "I got a concussion and three broken ribs, but the worst part was the hands. They almost had to amputate these three fingers." I stroke my pinkie, ring finger, and middle finger. "I had… I think five surgeries in total. My fingers are held together with a lot of metal. "My left hand wasn't as bad, but it's stiff and weak and look—" I hold it out to show him that my fingers never stop trembling.

He's got this look on his face like he's watching a puppy die. I let him hug me. He says, "I cannot _believe _you never told me about this before."

I feel so guilty. "Are you mad?" I ask.

He looks at me with that same dying-puppy face. "No," he says, "Just concerned. I thought we knew each other better than this."

I say, "Kurt… it's just really hard for me to talk about and think about, okay? I mean, you saw how freaked out I just got. I'd so much rather just pretend it never happened to me. I don't want to be defined by the worst day of my life."

He says, "But you used to play the violin. And now… well, I mean, you can still play, right?"

I feel tears well up in my eyes and I don't fight them, because I'm afraid that if I do I'll start panicking again. I say, "Not like I could, Kurt. Not like I could. I can barely hold the fucking bow steady with _this _hand," I hold up my right, "And this one is so awkward and stiff that I just… I mean, Bittersweet Symphony is a twelve-note phrase repeated over and over again. I used to be able to play Schoenberg and Stravinsky."

Kurt hugs me again. "I am so sorry, Blaine," he says, "So Quinn wasn't crazy when she said you were a prodigy?"

I shrug. "Playing violin was the focal point of my life for a long time. I was good at it, and I loved the rush I got from mastering a particularly complex piece of music. I loved the admiration I got when I performed. I loved making my dad proud. I would practice for hours a day and perform several times a week. I attended advanced training programs and participated in international music festivals."

"Wow," Kurt says, "I mean, I knew you were talented, but I just never realized… I never realized."

I say, "That was my life for a long time. And I loved it. When I first found out that I'd never get full function of my hands back, I was so devastated that I thought about killing myself."

He grimaces.

I say, "If I hadn't found the Warblers and a new outlet for my musical and performance needs, I think I might have done something really stupid. But as much as I love to sing and dance, it is in no way as satisfying as violin ever was. There's no way I'll ever be as good of a singer or an actor or a dancer as I was a violinist. And it sucks that every time I think about violin and the life I thought I'd have, I have to remember the reason that was taken away from me. I have to remember the worst day of my life. Being attacked like that… I mean, I still have nightmares, Kurt. So today, when I played… I mean, I just… well, you saw. I freaked out."

Kurt gives me another long hug, kisses my cheek, and says, "Blaine, that's so awful. I wish I could do something to help."

"You help in more ways than you could possibly know," I tell him.

He says, "But it took us dating for almost five months for you to tell me about it?"

I pull away from our hug, feeling overcome with guilt. I say, "I know that it must seem crazy to you that I'd keep that from you. But I'm an avoider. If I just don't think about things and don't talk about them, they don't have to matter to me. There's nothing I can do to change what happened to me. So I just don't talk about it. I don't think about it. I never had a reason to talk to you about it, because I don't let _myself_ think about it. It's never been on my mind. I don't know how to explain it."

Kurt sighs. "I think I get it, Blaine," he says, "But I also think that you like to be the strong one in this relationship, and you don't like me to see the vulnerable side of you. But I love you, and you have to know that you can always talk to me about anything, okay? Always."

I nod. "Ditto," I say, wiping tears off of my face, "I love you."


	12. His family could be mine

Kurt's mom passed away when he was eight, but last year his dad, Burt, got remarried to a wonderful woman named Carole who also happens to be Finn Hudson's mother. I am unbelievably jealous of their family. Finn and I might have some unspoken tension between us, but I respect how loyal he is to Kurt, even though they've only been brothers for a little under a year. Carole loves Kurt like he's her real son, and Burt is the most supportive and understanding guy I have ever met.

So I'm more than willing to agree to having dinner with the family when Kurt asks. "Carole wants you to come to dinner," he tells me. "She says she wants to get to know the people her sons love better. We had Rachel over last week. Are you in?"

I shrug. "Absolutely," I say, "I'd eat at your house every night if I had the choice. Or are we going out?"

"Carole's cooking," he says, "Tomorrow night?"

I nod. "Cool."

Rachel catches up to me after rehearsal, and she's not nearly as enthusiastic about the idea. Rachel is one of the most talented singers and performers I've ever met, but she's very much a drama queen. We've always gotten along great, even after I drunkenly made out with her last winter at a party.

"Blaine, you're going to Hudson-Hummel's for dinner tomorrow?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say, "It should be cool, right?"

Rachel looks scandalized. "_Cool_?" she asks, "You have got to be kidding me. Have you ever had dinner with them before?"

I'm suddenly nervous. "Well… I mean, I've been to their house before, but never dinner. But Burt and Carole are awesome. Why? Is there something I should know?"

Shrugging frantically, Rachel says, "I don't know! I was there last week. I think I made a complete fool out of myself. Burt intimidates me, and I think that Carole disapproves of me and Finn. I think she thinks I'm too dramatic for him. I think she's looking for a reason to convince us to break up. It was so stressful."

I say, "Calm down, Rachel. Seriously. Carole just wants to get to know us. You're reading into it too much. It's kind of cool, actually, when you think about it, that the four of us could theoretically be family someday."

Rachel's jaw drops. "Oh my god," she says, "You're totally right. We could start a family show choir." She stops. "Jesus," she says, "That's terrifying."

She walks away, and I suddenly feel a lot more nervous about the dinner—not because I think Carole has ulterior motives, but because I've only just now realized how permanent I've come to see my relationship with Kurt as being. If Kurt's family doesn't like me, things could get complicated—and my relationship with Finn is already strained.

He's the one who greets me when I show up at the Hudson-Hummel house the next night. Finn is about eight inches taller than I am and he's captain of the football team. I'm confident enough that I can usually hold my own around anyone, but Finn scares me a little.

"Oh. Hi Blaine," he says, stepping back to let me in. "Kurt's still getting dressed or something." He rolls his eyes.

I grin. "Of course," I say, rolling my eyes too. "It smells amazing in here!"

My dad never cooks. We live on take-out food and microwave meals. I can't remember the last time I smelled a home-cooked meal like this.

Finn looks a little proud. "Yeah," he says, "My mom is a fantastic cook."

I nod enthusiastically. "I can't wait! Do you think I should see if I can help with anything?"

"Nah," Finn says, "Just make yourself comfy. Mom doesn't like other people in her kitchen."

"Cool," I say, and I follow Finn into the living room where the TV is on and commercials are playing.

There are a few extremely awkward moments of silence, and then Kurt comes down the stairs, dressed to the nines in some sort of poncho/turtleneck getup. I stand up immediately and hug him. "Hi!" I say, "You look great."

He grins and leans in for a kiss. His lips taste like marshmallows.

I hear a cough from behind us and Kurt and I break apart to see Finn, Burt, and Carole all watching us. I feel myself blush a little, but it's not like they don't know we're dating.

"Hi!" I say, stepping forward to shake Burt's hand and get a hug from Carole.

We all go to the dining room, where Carole has set the table with a wonderful looking and smelling casserole of some kind in the centre.

"It smells wonderful," I tell Carole as I take a seat next to Kurt and across from Finn.

Finn's mom smiles. "Well thank you Blaine. Now, I didn't even think to ask if you eat meat! Of course Finn's girlfriend Rachel's a vegan, you know, so I should know to ask. This casserole has turkey in it, so I hope that's alright."

"That sounds awesome," I assure her, and she smiles.

"Great. Well, dig in!"

We all load our plates, and Carole asks, "So how're you doing at McKinley, Blaine? I hope the New Directions are as good to you as the Warblers were to Kurt last year."

I nod, catching Finn's slightly narrowed eyes. "Oh yeah," I say, "McKinley's great. Mr. Schuster's a wonderful director, and the classes are a lot easier than at Dalton, so it's great!" I laugh.

Burt grins. "Yeah, I'd imagine that's a welcome break."

Kurt says, "The curriculums at Dalton are designed to keep everyone too busy to realize how ridiculous they look in those blazers."

Everyone laughs, and I say, "I dunno, I think the blazers are kind of charming. Still, it's great to be able to wear street clothes again."

Kurt giggles, and says, "It's great for me to have someone to dress for a change."

I wink at him and Finn gives me a look as though I'm insane.

"What grade are you in, Blaine? Are you graduating this year?" asks Burt.

I shake my head. "No, I'm a junior," I say, "So I'll be stuck in Lima for another year while Kurt gets to live in New York."

Kurt says, "Shhh. We're not thinking about that."

Burt and Carole laugh, but Finn looks angry and I have no idea why. We keep eating and making small talk.

We finish the main course, which is the most delicious thing I've eaten in a very long time. Carole disappears to the kitchen and returns with a pan of some kind of dessert with whipped topping.

"_Yes!_" says Finn, "You made my favourite!"

Burt grins. "You're an angel, Carole," he says as she sets down the pan. She smiles gratefully at him and blows him a kiss.

"What is it?" I ask as she cuts into the dessert to serve us.

Carole says, "It's called Mississippi Mud Pie. If you like chocolate, you'll like this."

"Awesome," I say, accepting a generous portion from her on a dessert plate. It's frozen with multiple layers of chocolate and cream.

I wait until everyone else has their dessert before I start eating, the way my mother taught me. Finn and Kurt do the same. Finally, I'm about to take my first bite when I notice the texture of the crust. It looks like almonds. I freeze. "Are there nuts in this?" I ask, probably too abruptly.

"Yes," say Carole, Burt, Kurt, and Finn simultaneously.

I put down my fork immediately.

"It's an almond crust, sweetie," says Carole, frowning, "Are you allergic?"

I nod, suddenly mortified. Nobody wants to be the guy who can't eat the elaborate dessert their boyfriend's mom made for them.

"Oh my god," says Kurt, "I totally forgot. Jesus. We almost killed you, didn't we?"

Burt takes my plate away from me and Carole apologizes profusely, clearly just as embarrassed as I am.

"No big deal," I say, "I should have warned you earlier. I'm really disappointed now—it looks delicious."

Carole says, "Well I should have asked. I never think of these things. Aw. Well that's a shame. Do you want me to get you some ice cream or something instead?"

I shake my head. "It's fine," I say, "You guys just enjoy your dessert."

They all keep eating, but seem guilty. Finn looks annoyed, like I've just insulted his mother. But what am I supposed to do? I wish Finn weren't here, because he makes me nervous.

"So what do your parents do, Blaine?" asks Burt, "I don't think I know them."

My heart skips a few beats, and I say, "Well, my dad's an accountant. Mom… is a writer. They're divorced."

Kurt says, "I didn't know your mom was a _writer! _What kind of stuff does she write?"

My mother writes in her journal for herself and that's all. But she used to do more. I say, "Mostly biographies and textbooks and stuff. It's not very exciting."

Burt laughs, and says, "Well, I always admire people with the stamina to work with their minds all day. Writing is not a profession guys like me are cut out for."

"No," Finn agrees, "Me either."

I smile, "No, I don't think I could do it either."

Kurt says, "Really? I'd love to be a writer."

I say, "I can't spend that much time inside my head. I don't think I like myself enough."

Burt chuckles, and Kurt grins and kisses me on the cheek. Finn rolls his eyes.

"So do you go back and forth between your parents' houses, or stay with one of them?" Carole asks.

"I live with my dad," I say, "But I visit my mom every week."

"And do you have any siblings?" asks Carole.

Kurt says, "He has a brother."

"Half-brother," I correct him, "But he's a lot older and we're not really in touch. He lives in LA."

Carole nods. "So your family's pretty disconnected, huh?" she comments.

I make brief eye contact with Finn, feeling really weird about talking to his mother about my "disconnected" family.

"Yeah," I say, "I guess you could say that. But we make it work."

Kurt squeezes my hand under the table and I wish for one moment that his family could be my family too.


	13. It just hurts to breathe is all

Today Kurt is missing rehearsal because of a dentist appointment, so I have to face glee without his moral support, and it's tough to keep up my front of easygoing confidence while I feel as insecure as I do right now. When Kurt's around, everyone acts like they're glad I'm in the choir and they include me in conversations and jokes like I've always been their friend, but I've never really spent any time with these people without Kurt by my side, and it makes me nervous.

Without him here, I start wondering if any of them would be my friend at all if they didn't all love Kurt so much. I know that some of them—Finn and Puck especially—are suspicious of me, especially since I backed out of doing the violin part on Bittersweet Symphony. I can't shake the feeling that if I screw up at all, they're all going to have their resentment of my Warbler leading role validated. I can't shake the feeling that they're all just waiting for me to make a mistake so that they can hate me without feeling guilty.

Quinn Fabray won't look me in the eye, and Finn rolls his eyes or glares any time I say anything. Puckerman is obviously suspicious of me and keeps making comments about how I could be spying for the Warblers. Santana is back and she's swearing allegiance to glee about the cheerleading squad, but I'm still a little angry at her for the whole piano fire thing.

Kurt still insists that I'm paranoid and that they don't hate or resent me at all, and I think he's probably right about most of them, but I'm always very careful not to give them any reason to think that I feel entitled to any role remotely parallel to my Warbler's role. I'm very careful not to draw unnecessary attention to myself. And now that I'm sitting here without Kurt, I suddenly wonder if these people have any idea who I am outside my role as Kurt's devoted boyfriend.

I'm nervous. Mr. Schue gets us reading through a new song—Simon and Garfunkel's The Sound of Silence. It's a four-part harmony arrangement and when Mr. Schue tells Tina to take the lead soprano part, she blushes and grins and I feel a weird sort of affection for her.

Mr. Schue gets me to share sheet music with Brittany, since the glee club doesn't have a photocopying budget. She sits so close to me that I have to keep pushing her hair out of my face. Brittany is beautiful and blonde and always really nice to me.

She's also covered in perfume, so I'm wheezing within five minutes.

"Louder, Tina," Mr. Schue says, "Rachel and Mercedes, quieter. And I'm not hearing any distinction between the soprano and alto lines. Let's hear just the girls. From the beginning. One, two, three, four…"

The girls struggle to get the harmonies as Mr. Schue plunks out each part note-by-note on the piano and Artie, Mike, Puck and Finn frantically use the time to download the original on their iPhones and figure out what it's supposed to sound like.

My eyes are starting to itch and water and I wonder if it would be inappropriate to leave the room while Mr. Schue is working with the girls so I can take a Zyrtec or something. I have kind of dramatic allergic reactions sometimes, especially when perfume is involved, and I'm not particularly interested in going through that today.

But just as I'm about to slip out of the room, I hear Mike hiss, "_Blaine!_" from in front of me. I look over and see all four of the other guys motioning me to join them. I leave Brittany's side gladly and move quietly down the row, trying not to distract their girls.

"What's up?" I whisper—the air catches in my lungs as I speak, and I have to turn to the side, muffling a coughing fit into my elbow before hearing Mike's response.

Artie says, "Help us out here, Blaine. Fourth bar tenor line? What's that supposed to sound like?"

Sight reading is easy for me after a lifetime of violin lessons, but none of the other guys were ever really taught any music theory, so it's not as easy for them. I'm always impressed at how hard they try to keep up with everyone anyway.

I read the line and sing it softly to them. Mike and Artie hum it back, and I try to muffle another raspy coughing fit.

"Boys!" Mr. Schue calls out, giving us a warning look, "Quiet please!"

I sneak back to my seat as the guys mutter their thanks and I feel valuable.

Brittany flips her hair over her shoulder and the strong scent of her perfume hits me square in the face, making my nose itch like crazy.

I get an annoyed glance from Finn as I cough loudly, too surprised by the sudden clenching of my lungs to muffle the grating hacks. I press my arm into my mouth and eventually stop coughing.

My coughing has that tight, itchy quality about it that means it's not gunna stop anytime soon. If Kurt were here, he'd find a way to let me sneak out discreetly, but Kurt isn't here, and I don't want to be that whiny gay kid who can't get through a rehearsal without his inhaler. Not when I'm trying to figure out how to be McKinley Blaine without Kurt.

"Alright!" Mr. Schue claps once as the girls finish singing the line with the correct harmonies. "Now let's add the boys."

Everyone starts singing, but my voice is asthmatic and weak, and I'm just waiting for Mr. Schue to call me out on it and for everyone else to judge.

My breath hitches and I stifle a sneeze as quietly as I can without interrupting the song.

"Bless you," laughs Mercedes from behind me as I slump in my chair a little and pitch forward in a string of six or seven more sneezes.

"_Bless you_," she repeats.

I turn around and give her a sheepish grin of thanks and then join back in on the singing for the last line of the song.

"Alright, excellent," Mr. Schue says, "This'll be great. Tina you're amazing. Let's get up and start choreography."

We all stand up and I've given up on muffling my coughing now.

"I have cough drops in my purse if you want one," Mercedes tells me as Mr. Schue figures out where we should all stand, "I hope you're not getting what I had last week."

I grin and say, "Thanks, but I'm fine," as Mr. Schue calls me to stand beside Brittany.

We start dancing and as soon as my heart rate starts climbing, my lungs start tightening. When it starts to hurt to breathe, I stop dancing for a moment and rub my chest a little, hoping it'll loosen up.

Finn bumps into me and curses under his breath. "What're you doing?" he asks, annoyed. I'm supposed to have moved three steps to the side and now I'm in his way.

"Blaine!" Mr. Schue calls, "Get moving! Are you getting this?"

I nod hurriedly and join back in. By the time we get through the song I'm lightheaded and know that it's time to admit defeat. I fall back into a chair, dizzy.

"We're not done, Blaine!" Mr. Schue says, "Let's stay on our feet!"

I try to get back up, but I'm coughing hard and it's grating at my lungs and making me see dancing black spots before my eyes. Mr. Schue's expression softens, and he says, "If you're sick you should go home, Blaine. We wouldn't want you getting anyone else sick too."

I grimace and try to rake in a decent breath between coughs.

"Jesus Christ," says Mercedes, "Are you sure you don't want a cough drop?"

I finally stop coughing, and I try to stay casual and keep a sheepishly charming demeanor while admitting, "Not a cough drop no; I really just need my inhaler." My voice is startlingly weak and breathless.

My wheezing is getting loud, and Artie and Quinn, who are closest to me, both look at me with eyes that tell me they can hear it.

"Are you serious?" asks Quinn, "Are you having an asthma attack?"

"Your inhaler? Where is it?" asks Artie at the same time, leaning forward.

I make eye contact with Mr. Schue and ask, "Do you mind if I go grab it… from my car real quick?" I don't have enough air to even say the whole sentence without pausing to wheeze.

Mercedes says, "Give me your car keys and I'll go get it for you. You stay sitting. You don't look so good."

I smile at her appreciatively, "Thanks, but it's not that serious. I can…" I cut myself off, coughing.

Mr. Schue says, "Blaine, you look pretty pale. I think you should let Mercedes go. Do you want me to call the nurse?"

I grimace. I'm trying to stay cool and pretend like it my lungs aren't screaming.

This is no big deal.

Nothing to see here.

"No nurse," I say, tossing my keys to Mercedes. "It's the green firebird in the back lot." I cough. "I think my inhaler's in the cup holder. Thanks Mercedes."

She nods and leaves the room.

Rachel sits down next to me, looking deadly serious. She takes my hand. "Hang in there, Blaine," she said, "You're gunna be okay."

I laugh raspily. "I know, Rachel," I say, "I'm fine. Just a little wheezy." Everyone is staring at me, and I feel humiliated.

I let anyone see how embarrassed I am, they'll see it as a weakness and make it a big deal. Use it as something to feel superior to me about. I have to keep my cool. I have to be sheepish and apologetic, but not defensive or at all scared.

I grin apologetically. "Just ignore me and keep rehearsing."

Finn is the only one who makes any indication of wanting to fulfill this request. Everyone else just crowds around me and asks me if I need anything and if I'm okay.

My lungs are clamped tighter than they've felt in a long time and breathing hurts like hell. I don't think I'm being very good at disguising my distress, and my wheeze is so pronounced that there's no way anyone will believe me

But they pay me no mind and keep staring at me in concern.

Puck says, "Dude, your lips are turning blue." He looks both fascinated and impressed.

Mr. Schue's frown is deeper than I've ever seen it before. "Blaine, you're sure this isn't serious?"

I cough. "Yeah. I'm sorry. I'm just really sensitive to perfumes..." I cough some more. My whole upper body is starting to ache from straining for air. I can't elaborate.

But Santana laughs knowingly and says, "And he was sitting next to Brittany. Jesus. I keep telling her she's going to kill someone with that stuff some day."

Brittany looks confused, and Mike leans closer to Brittany to take a whif. He sputters a little. "Jesus, Brit," he says, "That's strong."

Everyone diverts their attention from hovering over me to smell Brittany, and I welcome their moment of distraction. I tilt my head back and try to take slow, deep breaths, but it only makes me start coughing again.

Mercedes rushes back into the room and hands me my inhaler. I feel myself blush as I shake it quickly and then take a deep inhale from it and hold the medication in my lungs with they all watch me.

I exhale and feel my lungs relax a little. "Thanks Mercedes," I say.

Rachel says, "Girls, let's all do Blaine a favour and skip the perfume for glee rehearsals, alright?"

Everyone nods.

I cough I say sincerely, "I would appreciate that, actually."

Brittany says, "I'm sorry, Blaine. I didn't know you weren't supposed to bathe in it."

I can never tell if she's serious when she says stuff like that. I laugh wheezily, "I think I might just sit out the rest of the rehearsal, if that's alright." My voice always gets fucked up after I take my inhaler anyway.

Mr. Schue nods. "Whatever you need, Blaine. Next time speak up sooner. We don't want you keeling over on us or something."

Mercedes adds, "And stop leaving your inhaler in your car."

I grin and say, "Sorry. I didn't mean to derail the rehearsal."

Mike says, "Don't apologize bro. It's not your fault."

I'm still wheezing and exhausted, and Finn looks impatient to get back to work, so I wave everyone away and lean back in my chair with my eyes closed, waiting for the medication to take full effect.

This is not the way I would have chosen my first rehearsal without Kurt to go.


	14. My confidence destroys your selfesteem

Santana and I have barely interacted since we talked after Mr. Schue kicked her out of glee on my first day at McKinley. She's back in the New Directions now, but I'll admit I haven't been particularly warm to her. With Finn and Quinn, who don't trust me, I try to act as though we're friends and that I have no idea they hate me, but with Santana, I don't even try. I'm still a little angry at what she did to me my first day.

Santana is a total bitch. I mean, I'm a firm believer in not worrying about what other people think of me, and Santana's a firm believer in making sure everyone knows exactly what she does think of them. And she never thinks anything nice.

I honestly have no idea what her angle is. I have no idea why anyone decides to be that mean.

But when Mr. Schue decides to partner us off for a duet competition, Santana looks delighted to pick my name. She gives all of the other girls a smug grin, and takes me by the arm. She drags me to the auditorium immediately to start arranging our duet.

"You have amazing eyes, you know that, right, Blaine?" is the first thing she says to me.

I'm a little stunned. "Uh… Okay."

She says, "But you have seriously got to lay off the hair jell. Your eyebrows look humongous with your hair so flat. And if you want anyone to take you seriously, stop letting Kurt dress you."

There's the Santana I know. I say, "Okay. Well I'd rather make my boyfriend happy than please your eyes. Sorry. I'm not the one walking around in a trashy slut-suit day in and day out."

I've never understood why the cheerleaders at McKinley wear their uniforms all the fucking time.

Santana narrows her eyes and grins. "Well. Gay boy's got sass, huh?"

I shrug and can't help but smile. She asks, "So you're still pissed at me about the piano thing, huh?"

I say, "Not really. I just think you're a terrible person."

Santana laughs. "Okay. Sure. I'm terrible. And you're pissed that Finn still thinks it was you who set that piano on fire."

"Finn doesn't think it was me," I say, "He just thinks I think I think I'm better than he is and needs a reason not to feel guilty for thinking it."

Santana raises an eyebrow. "Very astute, Blaine," she concedes, "God, you know, I _really_ don't like you."

I nod. She's so resolutely awful that it's almost charming. I say, "Sure. Most people at this school don't, I guess."

Her jaw drops. "Are you kidding? People only wish they could hate you. You're too fucking nice for them to actually dislike."

I sit at the piano bench and looked up at her, confused. I can't figure out what she's trying to achieve with this conversation.

"You're kind of crazy, aren't you, Santana?"

Santana grins widely. "You got that right," she says, and she smiles at me. It seems like a genuine smile, and I think we just became friends.

"I'm crazy, but you're the one who walks around this school holding hands with Kurt like homophobia isn't a thing."

I say, "I live my life the way I want to live it. I really can't let what anyone else thinks get in the way of that."

Santana rolls her eyes. "That's admirable and all, but your confidence is destroying everyone else' self-esteem."

I laugh. "Well fuck," I say, "I'm sorry you see it that way."

My confidence destroys other people's self-esteem. I don't even know how I should feel about that, but I've never been prouder.

"I'm not kidding," Santana says. "You're too fucking confident."

"Look," I say, "There's a big difference between confidence and courage. What I have isn't confidence. Are you kidding me? I'm a teenage boy who likes other teenage boys and I live in a town that removed rainbows from elementary school science curriculums. I'm more insecure than any of you."

Santana laughs. "Tell me you're kidding about the rainbows," she says.

I shrug. I've been thinking about this a lot lately, and I want Santana to understand, because she's the biggest bully I know, and I want her to know why she can't hurt me.

I tell her, "I spent most of my life pretending to be someone I wasn't, and the moment I came out for who I really was, I was destroyed by bullies. I lived in fear and shame and self-hate and barely had the courage to get out of bed in the morning."

She loses her trademark smirk and frowns at me, listening.

I say, "But then I lived for a year in this magical land called Dalton Academy where anyone can be anyone and everyone loves everyone, and I'm sorry if I'm not ready to let go of the person that kind of environment allowed me to become just because I'm back in the muggle world."

Santana nods and still says nothing.

"It's called courage," I say, "At Dalton I could be as gay as I wanted and nobody gave a shit. At Dalton I got to sing solos and become a leader and find out that I probably have something some people like to call potential in an area I'd never even considered before. I'm not going to stop trying to live up to that potential and stop striving for the solos and the leadership and stop being gay just because it's a lot harder to do those things at McKinley as it was at Dalton. I can't let myself go back to that person I was before Dalton. I just can't."

She nods. "You are so fucking eloquent I want to make out with you," she says. "Have you ever considered being bisexual?"

The question comes out of nowhere, and I slide backwards a little in surprise. "Jesus, Santana. I'm flattered, but you know I'm with Kurt."

Santana shakes her head and her expression doesn't change. "Just answer the question. I know you like boys. But what about girls?"

Cautiously, I say, "I think that love is about people, not genders. But I also know that I love Kurt."

Santana says, "So you could be bisexual."

"Santana, you're beautiful, but I'm not interested."

She sits down beside me on the piano bench and giggles when I stiffen, uncomfortable.

Santana says, "I don't want you to be interested. I just want to know if being gay is really as black and white as people like Kurt and the media make it seem."

I blink and realize that she's actually curious, and not just hitting on me. I turn to straddle the bench and face her. I say, "I mean, it's certainly something I've struggled with. But it's not something I'm really exploring right now when I'm in a solid relationship with a boy. I do think it's different for everyone. I always knew that I liked boys, but it's not like I've never looked at a woman and thought she was sexy. I've made out with girls and enjoyed it."

She nods and for a second I think she's genuinely considering my words. And then she says, "I fucking knew that a guy as charming as you would fuck anything with legs."

Which is so inaccurate it almost hurts, but I just shrug and give her one of my supposedly charming grins.


	15. Ten fucking years

"I can't believe that you and Santana are friends," Kurt says, "I mean seriously. How is that possible?"

I shrug. "Oh come on," I say, "I know she stuck up for you last year. You love Santana."

He says, "Of course I love Santana," he replies, "But that doesn't mean I'm _friends_ with her."

I laugh. He rolls his eyes. I say, "We're duet partners. She's feisty. I like it. You're not jealous, are you?"

"Of course not," he says, "I'm just used to having you all to myself."

"Well I have to make other friends at McKinley, Kurt. Come on. I'm a people person."

He nods and taps my nose, grinning in his adorable way. "I know," he says, "I'll get used to it."

We're hanging out at the Lima Bean again, and Kurt's in a weird mood. He says, "We should hang out tonight. There's a Storage Wars marathon on. I just can't face spending another night listening to Finn and Carole get worked out over who can make the most money selling other people's crap."

I laugh, but say, "Sorry hon, but I've got a hot date with my mom tonight. We'll hang out tomorrow, I promise."

A barista drops something behind the counter, and I glance over my shoulder to laugh as she apologizes for the noise and pick it up.

When I turn back, Kurt's eyes are filled with tears and he's trying to brush them away quickly. My heart drops.

"Kurt, what's wrong?" I ask, startled. My boyfriend is not an easy crier.

He stands up abruptly, lip trembling. "Can we go?" he whispers, lip trembling.

I nod and quickly clear off our table as Kurt leaves the coffee shop so fast he might as well be on fire.

I chase after him as he collapses onto a bench in the park across the street. He's sobbing.

I'm usually the emotionally unstable one in this relationship, and I am too taken aback by his sudden tears to know what to do besides put a stunned arm around him. He immediately leans into me and presses his face into my shoulder, chest heaving with his sobs.

"What on earth is the matter?" I ask, trying to make sense of it. "Kurt!" I rub his back and kiss his hair. "This isn't like you! What is going on?"

He pulls away from me a little and then immediately leans in to kiss me on the mouth. I'm surprised, but I kiss him back. He throws his arms around me and takes a few deep breaths and then pulls away again. His cheeks are streamed with tears and he's still visibly fighting the sobs. "I'm so sorry!" he gasps, "It just hits me so hard sometimes!"

He bows his head, overwhelmed with sobs again, and I put my arm back around him and rub his leg with my other hand. I say, "It's okay, Kurt. Just breathe. Hey. Look at me."

He makes eye contact with me briefly, but it only makes him cry harder. I say, "I love you Kurt. Whatever's going through your head right now… I'll help you through it."

A wild gust of October wind ruffles his hair, and he shivers. "It's just a tough day," he says, voice trembling, "I hate today. I just hate it."

I think I know what's going on, and I kiss him again. I say, "This is about your mother, isn't it?" He'd started crying as soon as I'd mentioned mine.

"She died ten years ago today," he whispers, "Ten fucking years."

I've never heard his voice so empty before, and I feel tears well up in my own eyes. Ten years is a big anniversary. Kurt never talks about his mom. The only thing I know about her

"Oh Kurt… I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." I hold him close and rub his back. He keeps crying, and now I'm crying almost as hard as he is and I hate myself because I know I need to be strong for him.

What else can I say?

He kisses me again and whispers, "I love you so much, Blaine."

Our tears are mixing in our mouths. I whisper back, "I love you too. I can't stand to see you hurting like this."

He collapses into me again, sobbing. I take some deep breaths and try to pull myself together.

"Let's go to my house," I whisper, patting him on the shoulder, "My dad won't be there. We can talk. It's freezing out here."

Kurt nods and lets me pull him to his feet and lead him to my car. He's mostly finished crying by the time we're about half way to my house, but his eyes are puffy and he's covered in tears and snot. He laughs weakly, and says, "I'm such a mess. Don't judge me."

He's usually so composed and impeccably groomed that it makes me weirdly emotional to see him in this state, but I smile encouragingly and say, "There should be tissues in the glove compartment."

He blows his nose and wipes his face, but he's still crying. It's just less violent now. "I haven't cried like that in forever," he says, sounding a little hollow, "I honestly didn't expect today to be so hard."

My heart breaks for him all over again, and I have no idea what to say. All I can come up with is "You can cry all you want, Kurt. I love you."

His smile is genuine and it's all I can do to keep my eyes on the road and not gaze at him. I have so many emotions right now.

We go up to my room and lie on my bed, limbs entwined as we stare at the ceiling. He's still crying. He says, "You know, it's impossible to wrap my head around the fact that it's been fully a decade since she's been gone. I don't feel like I should be old enough to remember something that happened that long ago. I feel like I should still be that eight year old kid."

I stroke his hair and stay quiet. He just needs to talk things through, and I just need to listen.

"But then at the same time, I feel like I've lived my entire life without her. It's like the life I had when she was alive doesn't even count as real life, because I was so young and life was so good. Everything I consider significant in my life has happened since she's been gone. I don't even know who I was. I have so many memories of her and of…" He trails off, crying silently, "And of my childhood, but it's like they're completely disconnected from myself. Everything changed after she was gone. And she wasn't there for any of it."

He cries to himself and I squeeze him as tight as I can and rock ever so slightly back and forth.

He says, "It's just so confusing. Because it's been so long. I know she's gone and I know there's nothing that can change that. My life is really _really_ good right now. But it just hits me so hard. You know, I didn't even realize what today was until late last night. It didn't even cross my mind. And then I heard my dad crying, and it hit me. And then I couldn't sleep and I haven't been able to keep it together all day. And I hate feeling like this. I know that she wouldn't want me to feel like this. But I just can't… I just can't deal with it."

I have tears in my eyes again, and I say to him. "You shouldn't have to deal with it. But I know that you have and that you will. You're strong."

He squeezes me and smiles, simultaneously starting to cry harder. "I am so lucky to have you," he whispers.

"You know," he says, "I was there when it happened. When she died. I was waiting for her to pick me up from my piano lesson and I heard this huge crashing sound in the intersection beside the music studio. I looked over and my mom's car was upside down and smashed into a streetlight, and a huge semi truck was on its side in the street. The truck ran a red light and she didn't stand a chance. I watched them pull her body out of the car before my dad even got there."

I can picture eight-year-old Kurt standing amongst paramedics and police officers and strangers seeing this happen, and my blood feels like it's not moving in my veins. Poor Kurt. I know from what I've heard from his friends that Kurt was always kind of a downer before he met me, and I've always known that he misses his mom like crazy, but hearing him talk about it like this just changes my whole perspective on why Kurt is the way he is.

The feelings are so much more profound than I ever understood from the brief and stiff conversations we've had about her before.

I roll over a little so that I can see his face. He's not really crying anymore; he's just staring at the ceiling, thinking.

"That is the saddest thing I have ever heard," I finally say. "You are the strongest, bravest person I know, Kurt."

He squeezes my hand, and says, "I think the same about you, Blaine. I'm gunna go wash my face." He untangles himself from me, and crosses the room to the door.

As soon as he's gone, my cell phone rings and my blood runs cold because I think it's going to be my mom, wondering where I am. At least Kurt's not in the room right now.

But when I pull it out of my pocket, it's the Hudson-Hummel house calling. "Hello?"

"Blaine?" it's Burt, and he sounds worried. "Is Kurt with you? He's not answering his phone."

I at the door Kurt just closed behind him and say, "Yeah, he's here. Is everything okay."

I hear Burt exhale. "Thank god," he says, and then he chuckles a little. "Everything's fine. I just got so worried when he didn't come home for dinner."

"Sorry," I say, "We should have called. We're at my house. He was really upset about his mom, and I'm just helping him talk through it."

There's a momentary silence on the other end, and I think Burt is crying a little when he says, "I'm glad he has you, Blaine. Is he alright?"

"I think so," I say, "He was crying for a long time, but he's in the bathroom primping now, so I think he's through the worst of it."

Burt says, "Well it's a tough day." He's definitely fighting tears. "Thanks for being there for him. I don't know that he's ever opened up to anyone about her before."

I say, "It's the least I can do."

"Tell him I called," Burt says, "I'll let you go."

I want to say something to comfort him, but I have no idea what. So I just say, "I will. Bye Burt."

He hangs up and I hurry to text my mom and tell her I'll see her tomorrow instead before Kurt gets back.

When he comes back into my room, his hair is tidy again, and his face is clean. His eyes are still puffy. He smiles and I can practically feel how much more relaxed he is. "I really needed that," he says, "It's amazing what a good cry can do for you. Everything feels lighter."

I grin at him, feeling suddenly lighter as well. "Sometimes you've just got to cry," I agree, hugging him, "I'm glad you're feeling better."

He hugs me back and I feel closer to him than I've ever felt to anyone in my entire life.


	16. So we can be friends

Santana and I meet one last time to work on our duet. Mr. Schue is having all the partners face off against each other tomorrow, and Santana and I pretty much sound amazing together, so I'm excited. She's fucking talented.

We're doing a duet of my arrangement of Big and Rich's Holy Water, and it works amazingly for our voices. We don't have too much left to work on, and we keep forgetting to rehearse because we keep getting distracted by conversation.

"So someone told me that you're actually a boxer" she says, "Tell me that's not true."

I grin and raise my fists. "I like to punch things," I say, "And I'm not as brave as Kurt. I'm wouldn't walk around this school in a bowtie if I didn't know how to fight."

She laughs. "So the skinny white boy thinks can fight, huh? I'd kill to see that."

"Whoa," I say defensively, "That's offensive. I'm half-Asian, bitch."

Blinking and raising an eyebrow, Santana squints at my face in surprise. "Well shit," she says, "I guess I can see that. I had no idea."

"Nobody ever guess. I look like my dad," I say, "But my mom's Filipino."

She says, "Cool. Don't tell anyone, but I'm actually only half Latina. So we can be friends."

I say, "I thought we were already friends."

She shrugs. "I hear you were quite the asshole once upon a time," she says, "So I suppose we are kind of soul mates."

"What?" I ask, "Who told you that?"

"Quinn."

Grimacing, I say, "Yeah, well that was a long time ago."

She says, "Sure. But the way she described it, you haven't changed that much. I mean, maybe you don't pick on people anymore, but you're still kind of a cocky attention-whore, aren't you?"

Ouch.

I could try to refute her, but it's easier just to grin, shrug, and say, "There's nothing wrong with knowing your strengths and wanting to be recognised for them."

She grins. "Good answer," she says, "And it's the same answer that Rachel Berry would give, but I don't want to slap you in the face, so you're doing something right."

Jesus. This girl.

She says, "Although if you and Kurt don't slow down, you'll soon trump Finchel for the most annoyingly hand-holdy couple in the school."

I laugh, "You're just jealous," I say.

She raises an eyebrow, and says, "Far from it."

"Please," I say, "The last guy you dated was Karofsky. You're desperate."

Dave Karofsky was the bully who chased Kurt out of McKinley with death threats last year after Kurt found out he was gay. Santana dated him for a few months at the end of last year before he disappeared off the face of the planet.

Santana's eyes narrow. "Whatever. You don't know what you're talking about. You weren't even at this school last year. "

I roll my eyes. "Yeah. Sure."

Her eyes narrow in her typical unpredictable anger. "What the fuck do you know about Karofsky?" she asks.

Which makes me think that Santana is perfectly aware of how gay her ex is. I say quickly, "Nothing."

But she's mad. "I don't know what you've heard," she says, "But Dave and I were great together."

I say, "Sure. Great like you and I are great together, maybe."

I don't know why I say the things I say sometimes.

Santana knows exactly what I'm getting at, and she snaps, "Fine! I was Karofsky's beard. Happy? That doesn't make me a fucking lesbian, if that's what you think."

The thought had never occurred to me until she said it, but once she did, I knew it was true.

I stare at her, jaw hanging open a little. "Oh my god," I say, "You're dating Brittany, aren't you?"

I really don't know why I say the things I say sometimes.

Santana slaps me across the face. "You shut your fucking mouth," she screams.

And then she runs out of the room and I'm left standing there in shock staring at the doorway with my cheek stinging.

Well fuck.


	17. To love who I love

Santana will not look at me or even talk to me to make fun of my hair, and it's stressful. I don't know what she thinks I think of her, or what she thinks I'm going to do.

She doesn't even show up to glee tonight when we're supposed to perform our Holy Water duet. Rachel and Finn win the competition, and I'm admittedly annoyed, because I know Santana and I could have beat them.

When Kurt asks me if I know where she is, I shrug and say I have no idea. Telling Kurt what I know is exactly what Santana would expect me to do, but that's not my secret to tell, not even to someone who could probably help her quite a bit.

After rehearsal, he and I stay to do some vocal exercises. We're both trying to strengthen our air support and improve our ranges before our first competition in a few weeks.

We start challenging each other to test our relative abilities.

He can get higher than me without switching to falsetto, but I get about an octave lower.

"_Damn,_ Blaine," Kurt says, nodding enthusiastically and grinning at me as I hit my limit, "Your range is to fucking die for."

I grin and say, "Yeah, _my_ range is to die for, says the male soprano."

Kurt grins back and kisses me. "I didn't say that my range wasn't to die for too. I just wish I could hit those low notes. And your falsetto is sexy. Mine's just girly."

"Don't even say that," I say, "I want to jump you every time you get above a high C."

He grins.

I can sing louder, but he can hold way longer.

"That's just pathetic, Blaine," he says when I stop to breathe after just over half the amount of time he held his note.

I stick out my tongue. "Shut up," I say, "I'm asthmatic."

He says, "Fair enough. I just don't get how you can have enough air to belt a note so loud but not enough to sustain a quiet note for more than fifteen seconds."

Shrugging, I say, "I'm just super enthusiastic. I can't help but be loud."

Kurt is one of the most unique and wonderful singers I've ever met, and I know his voice will take him everywhere. I have more training and natural ability as a musician, but my voice is not the instrument I was born to use. Kurt will always have an advantage over me on that front.

"So what're you doing tonight?" He asks once we finish practicing and are heading back to my car.

I've been waiting for him to ask this question all day, because I'm about to take a huge step with him.

But I try to sound casual when I say, "I'm gunna hang out with my mom. Do you wanna come? She thinks it's ridiculous that she's never met you."

He tilts his head in surprise and beams. "Absolutely," he says, "It _is_ ridiculous that we've never met. I was starting to think you were ashamed of me."

I laugh. "No way," I say, "I just wanted to keep up my mysteriously independent façade for as long as possible." I wink.

He rolls his eyes. "That I do believe," he says, "You _never_ talk about your family."

I say, "Well come on. Let's go meet her right now."

"Right now? Gees, you're really just gunna spring this on me? I've never met a boyfriend's parents before."

He's never had another boyfriend and we both know it.

"Well you're not meeting my parents," I say, taking his hand and leading him out of the choir room, "You're meeting my mom."

He laughs and follows me to my car.

As we drive, he asks, "How long have your parents been divorced?"

I don't know for sure if my parents ever were married.

"Mom moved out when I was eight."

"That sucks," Kurt says, "I've never even met your dad, have I?"

I grimace. "Noooo," I say, "You certainly have not."

"But I've been to your house plenty of times. You purposely make sure he's not home before you let me come over, don't you?"

I glance at him pointedly, and say, "Absolutely I do. Are you kidding me? My dad is not ready to know his son has a boyfriend."

He's quiet for a minute, and I'm watching the road but I can tell he's frowning. Finally, he says, "You're always talking about how you're out and you're proud," he says, "But your own dad doesn't know you're gay?"

I say, "Oh, he knows. That doesn't mean he likes it. I told you, Kurt, we don't get along. But I don't need my dad's approval to love who I love."

"And you don't think it would help to just talk to him about it? Or let me talk to him? I mean, he's your family, right? He's got to accept it someday."

I try not to sound to bitter when I say, "My family isn't like yours, Kurt. I'm just trying to keep the peace until I can move out."

He shakes his head. "Fuck, that sucks. Why don't you just move in with your mom?"

If only if only if only.

"Mom's really not in a position to support me," I say, signalling to turn into the parking lot of her care facility.

"What do you mean?" Kurt asks.

I park the car and undo my seat belt. "Just trust me," I say, "She's not. Come on." I open the car door, and Kurt looks around in confusion.

"Where are we?"

I say, "Just follow me."

He does, but he's obviously confused and a little taken aback.


	18. A distinctly Filipino sparkle

My mom knows that Kurt is coming to visit. She was very excited about it when I brought it up last week. I also warned her nurses of the visit. So if my mom is having a good day, this will go well.

Or at least as well as it can go. I have a feeling Kurt's going to be mad at me for throwing this at him so unexpectedly.

If mom's having a bad day, this is going to be a disaster.

I'm holding Kurt's hand as we approach the rec room where me and mom always meet. Janet, one of mom's regular nurses greets us in the hall. "Your mom's waiting for you," she says, "Is this your boyfriend?"

I nod. "This is Kurt."

I make eye contact with her and try to get a clue as to what mood my mom is in. She gives me a reassuring nod, and shakes Kurt's hand. "Nice to meet you Kurt. Have a nice visit."

Kurt is tight lipped and frowning. I squeeze his hand, kiss him on the cheek and say, "Be cool, man. My mom's a sweetheart. She'll love you."

I lead him into the rec room, where Mom is sitting on the couch wearing her favourite dress. Her hair is curled and her face is made up—she's dressed to impress. When she sees me and Kurt walk in, her face lights up and she stands up immediately, smoothing out her dress over her tiny frame.

"Blaine!" she says, stepping forward and stretching her arms out to welcome a hug.

I give her a tight squeeze and a kiss on the cheek. "Hi Mom. This is Kurt."

Kurt is standing stiffly with his mouth open a little. Mom looks him up and down and smiles hugely. "We meet at last," she says, "You are every bit as adorable as I imagined."

She hugs him and he gives me a startled look.

"Don't look so stunned," Mom tells him, laughing.

Kurt stutters, "I—I'm sorry—I just—I had no idea… that Blaine was half-Asian!"

Mom and I both laugh, and Mom winks at him. Kurt looks a little sheepish. Mom says, "Well, Blaine takes after his dad, but I'd like to think that he's got quite a distinctly Filipino sparkle in his eyes."

I laugh and kiss her on the hair. Kurt laughs too. "I don't know how I missed it," he says gracefully.

He's taking this a lot better than I had thought he would.

We all sit down in the seating area, and Mom says, "Kurt, Blaine has told me so much about you. How are your college applications going?"

Kurt makes a face. "I don't know," he says, "I've only applied to one school, the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts. I probably won't hear from them for months."

She says, "From what Blaine's told me, you'll have no problem winning them over."

My boyfriend gives me a grateful smile. I say, "That's what I keep telling him."

He nods, "That's what I keep telling myself. We'll have to wait and see. I'm losing my mind waiting to find out."

She says, "If there's one thing you learn, living in a place like this, it's that success if relative. I think it's pretty cruel of the school system to instill this much pressure on kids your age to achieve your dreams and achieve them quickly. If you've got talent, you've got all the time in the world to use it. You're young. Enjoy your senior year and don't stress about college."

I love my mom, and I can tell by the way Kurt's shoulders relax that he does too. "Excellent advice," he says, "I'll try."

Mom smiles. "Good. Now, I need to thank you for dragging Blaine out of that silly boarding school. I thought he'd never get the nerve to face reality again."

Nodding with a delighted grin, Kurt says, "No problem! I couldn't be happier as well. I think McKinley's doing wonders for him."

"Absolutely," Mom says, "He's starting to seem like his old self again."

I try not to show how uncomfortable the conversation is making me.

Kurt asks, "So what else has Blaine told you about me?"

Mom says, "Oh, all kinds of things. You're his whole world, Kurt."

I feel myself blushing, and Kurt is grinning like an adorable idiot. Mom says, "I hear that your dad is running for congress?"

Nodding, Kurt says, "Yes, we're very excited about it."

Burt is running against the cheerleading coach, Sue Sylvester, and it's been a very intense race.

Mom says, "Well, from what I've read, he's the most level-headed candidate so far. He's got my vote."

"Thank you!" Kurt can't stop smiling.

We chat for a while—mostly my mom using her charms to make my boyfriend fall in love with her while I listen and blush occasionally at her unabashed candidness about her adoration of her son.

"You two need to sing for me," mom says after a while, "I'd love to see you perform. Would you mind?"

I glance at Kurt, who shrugs and nods. I grin. "Sure," I say, "Any requests?"

She says, "Whatever you two have in your wheelhouses."

Kurt says, "Let's do Candles."

We'd done a duet of Candles with the Warblers last year at Regionals, and it was what made us fall in love.

I smile and we both stand up. I go to the piano and plunk out our starting notes. He takes my hand and I count him in under my breath.

As soon as Kurt opens his voice to start singing, my mom's face crumbles with emotion. When I add my voice to his, she leans forward with the widest smile I've ever seen.

Kurt and I sing that duet better than we've ever sung it before, and the look my mother's face brings real tears to my eyes. Several nurses and other patients are standing by the door listening by the time the song ends.

Mom makes deep eye contact with me as silence replaces the music, and then she drops her head and stares at the floor. My stomach does flip flops.

I kiss Kurt, and say, "I think it's time to leave. That was beautiful."

He looks surprised. "We're leaving already?"

I nod quietly, and go over to hug my mom goodbye. She sit stiffly, still staring at the floor, and doesn't hug me back. "I love you Mommy," I whisper, kissing the top of her head.

"Well goodbye!" Kurt says, "It was nice to meet you!"

Mom doesn't respond. I take Kurt's hand again and thank Janet, who give me an apologetic wave goodbye.

Kurt and I leave the facility and go back out to my car.


	19. I'm one of the lucky ones

As soon as we step outside, Ohio slaps me in the face with a gust of freezing cold and car-exhaust filled air, and Kurt punches me in the arm with his fist.

I start coughing immediately and choke, "Ow, Kurt!"

He pulls his hand out of mine and storms away.

I chase after him. "Kurt, come on."

My boyfriend gets to my car and stops walking. He turns around and says, "You're an asshole, you know that, right, Blaine?"

I unlock the car, still trying to stop coughing. What am I supposed to say?

I say, "That's not fair."

We both get into the car, and he says, "No, what you just did to me wasn't fucking fair, Blaine. Jesus. Why didn't you warn me?"

I start the car, and retort, "What did you need warning about?"

"Oh, I dunno," he says angrily, "Maybe the fact that your mother lives in a… fucking… what even is this place?"

I know it's irrational, but I'm angry that he's reacting this way. I say, "I don't think I have to apologize for introducing you to my mother. I've met your family. Why the fuck does it matter where she lives?"

I back out of the parking spot and pull out onto the road.

My lungs are still irritated from the cold, polluted air, and this rush of anger is making my chest muscles overcompensate, and my breathing is starting to hurt.

He rolls his eyes, and says, "Don't pretend you don't know," he says, "Blaine, I felt like an _idiot_ in there! Pretending like I didn't have a million questions. Jesus Christ. You can't just spring stuff like that on me."

I stop at a stop sign and cough. Fuck fuck fuck.

"I'm sorry if it never occurred to me that I should warn you that my mother isn't like everyone else, Kurt. I thought you of all people would understand that! It's just who she is."

"No," Kurt says, shaking his head, "You don't really believe that. Because if you really believed that where your mom lived didn't matter, you wouldn't have kept it a secret from me for so long."

I tilt my head back, rubbing my chest and trying to get my lungs to relax while biting my lip in frustration and trying to keep my eyes on the road. I shake my head. "You still don't get how my head works, do you, Kurt?" I ask, "I'm an avoider! It never occurs to me to talk about the sad and scary stuff, because I don't even let myself think about it!" I cough a few times and grimace, checking the cup holder for my inhaler. It's not there.

"So you admit that it's sad and scary?" he asks, "It is important. And don't pretend like your decision to bring me here was spur of the moment. Your mom was expecting me. You planned this."

Urgh, he's always right. I say, "Fine," I say, "What do you want me to say, Kurt?" I shoulder check and switch traffic lanes.

He says, "I want you to apologize to me! I keep thinking that I finally understand you and I finally know all of the secrets behind that charming smile, but you keep proving me wrong. Why is it so hard for you to just talk to me?"

I say, "I do talk to you. All the time."

His expression softens when I start coughing again. He says, "Blaine, you're wheezing."

I make a face, and say, "Yeah, probably. It's nothing."

We drive in silence for moment, and then he says, "Look, I get that you're complicated, Blaine. That's okay. You're good to me, and I love you. I don't need to know everything about you. I just don't know how you possibly thought it was a good idea to take me to visit your mother in a mental hospital without talking to me about it first."

"What was I supposed to say, Kurt?" I ask, "Hey, my mom is crazy, do you want to meet her? I just figured it would be easier for you see for yourself."

He shakes his head. "Not without any context! I mean, I didn't know what to do or say. I didn't know if I could ask questions. I didn't know if something I said was going to be the wrong thing to say. Blaine, I was terrified!"

"I would have warned you if you had anything to worry about," I say, "Mom's tough. You don't have to be careful around her."

"But I had no way of knowing that!"

I start coughing again—deep, grating coughs that leave black patches in my breathing and won't stop.

"Pull over, Blaine," Kurt says sharply, "_Now._"

I signal, shoulder check, and pull into the parking lane, still coughing. I park the car and turn to the backseat, looking for my bag. "Can you… pass me my bag?" I ask, turning back forward when twisting my torso like that makes my lungs suddenly tighten further.

He undoes his seatbelt and grabs my book bag, opening it himself to look for my inhaler. I'm still coughing.

"Here," Kurt says, the angry tone gone from his voice. He presses my inhaler into my hand.

I shake it quickly and force myself to stop coughing. I use the inhaler quickly but start coughing again before I've let the medication sit in my lungs for long enough. I try again, and this time the effect is immediate. Sometimes, when I take my inhaler, it takes a few hours to really make a difference, and sometimes, it's like magic. My lungs just open right back up and I remember how wonderful it feels to be able to breathe.

This time, it's like magic. I toss the inhaler into the cup holder and lean my forehead into the steering wheel for a few moments, taking deep, free breaths.

"Are you okay, babe?" Kurt rubs my shoulders and my shoulder and neck muscles immediately relax.

I breathe a few more times with my head down, and then lean back again, smiling sheepishly at Kurt. I don't think I've ever had an asthma attack in front of him before, and I can tell that he's trying not to let on how worried he is.

"Sorry," I say, "Jesus. That came on quickly."

He says, "No kidding. Is it over?"

I cough again to test my lungs; there's still a bit of a whistle, but I'm fine. I say, "Yeah. I dunno what happened. Weird combination of bad air and selfish anger, I guess."

Kurt smiles and kisses my cheek. "Fuck," he says, "You're too adorable to stay mad at."

I kiss him back, but I feel guilty. My brain is all over the place right now. I say, "No, you probably should be mad at me. I knew you would be. I just didn't know how to bring it up and what to say. I'm sorry."

He smiles again. "There," he says, "You apologized."

We kiss again.

I pull back onto the road and Kurt and I are quiet until we get to his house.

"You should come in," he says, "I don't think anyone else is home."

So we go up to his room and cuddle on his bed. He asks, "Can I ask you about her?"

"Of course," I say, "I wouldn't have brought you to meet her if I wasn't ready to talk about it."

He asks, "What is that place? It's a mental hospital, isn't it?"

"Care facility," I correct him, "It's a psychiatric care facility. She's lived there since I was nine."

He frowns, squeezing my hand. "That's a long time," he says. "What—I mean—why… what's wrong with her?"

I grimace and make eye contact with him. "Honestly?" I say, "I don't really know. I think she's probably bipolar, but nobody's ever really told me."

"Nobody's ever told you?"

I shrug. "I know it probably sounds weird. But it just never seems important to me. All I know is that sometimes she's the most composed, articulate, and intelligent person I know, and we can talk for hours about everything, and sometimes she just stares at the floor and cries."

Kurt says, "When we left… she seemed like she'd just shut down."

"Yeah," I say, "That's how she gets. I don't know how to explain it. It's like she just cuts out. And then nobody can get through to her. Usually, the nurses just ask me to leave, because she can be a little unpredictable. It's scary. But lately she's been good a lot more often than she's been bad."

He's quiet. I think I've freaked him out. I say, "She's where she needs to be. I mean, they know how to handle her there, and when she's lucid, she's always happy there. I've talked to her about it."

Kurt says, "I can't imagine how… I dunno… confusing that must be for you."

I shrug. "I guess. It's just life though, you know? She's been there since I was nine. That's just who my mom is. I love her, and she's my best friend, and sometimes I have to wait out some rough patches, but that's the same in any relationship, right?"

Shaking his head, Kurt says, "Sometimes I think you over-rationalize things just to avoid having real emotions about them."

I say, "I have plenty of real emotions, Kurt. But yeah, maybe I do that."

"What was she like when you were little?" he asks, "I mean, when she lived at home?"

It's not something I think about very often. Life was very different back then.

I say, "I have no memory of her being anything but normal until my brother Cooper left for college. Cooper was her step-son, but they were really close, because Cooper's mom was never really around. After he left, she just fell apart. Shortly after, she divorced dad and moved into the facility. Honestly, I don't remember much about it. I don't know if Cooper leaving caused it, or if it was something unrelated."

I haven't seen Cooper in years.

Kurt says, "That sucks, Blaine. Seriously. She seems like an amazing woman."

"She is," I say, "And I don't want you to think that it sucks. I'm one of the lucky ones. I have a mom is alive and who loves me. Everyone's family is fucked up. Everyone has to deal with it. My mom's mental condition is the least of my concerns. But you know that."

I touch my useless fingers, and he wraps his hands around mine. "You're something special, Blaine," he says.

I say, "Thanks for understanding."


	20. I am a fucking homosexual

I never did actually come out to my dad, but I think he's always known I was gay. When I got the shit beat out of me and was in the hospital for a few weeks, we were both kind of forced to acknowledge my sexual orientation, but we've never actually discussed it outright.

He makes it very clear that he hates it anyway.

Before the attack, Dad actually did used to try to bond with me. Or at the very least, he forced me to participate in a series of manly activities with him in an effort to squash the suspected gay out of me. I like sports and I like cars and I like action movies, so our bonding time shouldn't have been awful, but my dad is an asshole, so it was.

Everyone says that I have charisma, which scares me sometimes, because I don't want to be my dad. He could charm the track suit off of Sue Sylvester. He's very handsome and very intelligent, very heterosexual, and not very monogamous. My mother was his longest marriage, but even as a five-year-old, I knew that he was cheating on her. Dad's been married twice since Mom, and neither marriage lasted more than six months. He brings home different women weekly, and I do my best to stay out of the way.

Last year, I was in the ICU the night after I was almost killed by my classmates, and Dad showed up to tell me that if he ever found out I was with another guy, he'd kill me.

I was in the hospital for a month and had five surgeries, and after that, Dad only ever showed up to sign consent forms and ignore me.

Then he sent me to Dalton and we didn't speak to each other for ten months.

Since I've been living at home with him again, he hasn't been awful. He rags on me about my fashion choices and snarls at me if I leave a dish unwashed, but I think he's mostly given up on me.

At least that's what I thought until I get home from school today and he's sitting there in the living room with a glass of scotch in his hand and a hard and determined look on his face.

"Blaine," he says, "Come here. Now."

I set down my bag and take off my shoes and step nervously into the living room.

He says, "Blaine, I work with a woman named Julia Chang. I believe you know her son."

My stomach drops about a million miles. Cautiously, I say, "Uh. I know a kid called Mike Chang?"

Dad set down his drink. "That's the one," he says.

I nod. His eyes are narrow and his gaze is steady. It feels like he's going to explode at any moment.

If Mike told his mom about me and Kurt, I actually will punch him in the face.

He says, "Julia congratulated me today. Apparently my son gave a wonderful performance in a glee club fundraiser last Friday."

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

The New Directions had put on a concert to raise money for our bus to sectionals. We'd sold a hundred tickets, and I'd sung the lead on Billy Joel's The Longest Time.

I take a step backwards, feeling my hands start to tremble. I've never seen my dad in a mood like this before. I brace myself for the yelling.

But he doesn't yell. He gets to his feet grabs my arm and slams me into the bookshelf.

I'm too stunned to even react. Books fall on my head and I barely move.

"Perhaps I wasn't clear before," he growls, "I _don't_ want you singing and dancing like a fucking homosexual anymore."

His fingers are like a vice grip on my arm and stunned tears are making themselves unwelcome guests in my eyes.

"I _am_ a fucking homosexual," I say.

As if it was a good fucking idea to egg him on or something.

But I mean really.

His hand finds my neck, and he slams my head backward into the shelf again and knees me in the thigh. I crumble forward, and he lets go of my arm, pushes me to the floor, and kicks me in the ribs.

"Don't you _ever_ say those words in my house again," he says, kicking me again on the word 'ever.'

It's not like I don't know how to fight back, but I never thought I'd have to fight back against my own father.

I just lie here with my eyes closed and say nothing at all. Do nothing at all.


	21. Secrets make me angry too

My body aches all over today, and I think I'm still in shock. My father was gone when I woke up this morning, and I thought about skipping school today, but I don't want Kurt to worry, so I put on a sweater to cover all of the bruises, and I drive to school, numb.

I should tell someone, of course. I should tell Kurt or Mr. Schue or Ms. Pillsbury or something. I should tell someone. Someone can probably help me.

But I remember Bellville, where I tried to tell people, and nobody cared. If you're gay, you're gunna have to put up with this kind of thing.

But not from my own fucking father.

It was the first time he had ever laid a finger on me. He was drunk. It sucks, and it's scary, but I don't want to cause some huge drama when it might not ever happen again.

But Kurt will hate me if he finds out.

Do I won't say anything. But if it _ever_ happens again, I'm moving out of that house faster than anything.

And there's no fucking way I'm going to quit glee club.

I seriously need to punch something.

I pull into the parking lot and notice Mike Chang parking in the row over. My heart-rate climbs, and I get out of my car quickly to catch him before he gets into the school.

"Can I talk to you?" I ask, stopping him as he locks his car.

Mike raises his eyebrows. He and I get along great in glee club and have similar taste in music, but he's a year older than I am and we've never really talked outside of rehearsals before. "What's up?" he asks, putting his car keys into his pocket.

I'm usually good at talking to people, but I feel awkward and uncomfortable right now.

He leans against his car and waits for me to collect my words. I blurt out, "My dad works with your mom."

"Oh yeah," Mike says, nodding, "She mentioned that. Small world, huh?"

I nod. "Yeah, sure. I guess. But uh… have you ever mentioned… me and Kurt… to your mom?"

His eyes widen, and he thinks for a moment. "I… I don't think so," he says. He obviously knows why I'm asking.

His uncertainty makes me uncomfortable, but I'm a little relieved. I say, "Okay. Listen, can you do me a favour?"

He says, "I won't say anything to her."

Mike's understanding lifts a huge weight off of my chest. "Thank you," I say.

"But seriously, Blaine? You still haven't come out to your dad? I thought that you were Mr. What Makes You Different Makes You Stronger."

Grimacing, I say, "He knows I'm gay. It's complicated. I'd just rather he didn't hear about Kurt from anyone but me. And I'm not ready for that just yet."

"Okay," Mike says, and I feel like he's judging me.

Probably too defensively, I say, "It's not like I'm ashamed or I'm trying to hide anything. My dad just isn't ready to know that his son has a boyfriend. He nearly shit his pants when your mom told him I was in glee club."

I laugh, but I think my tone is a little harsh, and Mike looks a little guilty.

"Hey, I get it, bro," he says, "My dad literally disowned me when I told him I wanted to be a dancer. But he came around eventually. I'm sure your dad will too."

Not fucking likely.

"Thanks for understanding," I say.

He nods. "Not a problem," he says.

We walk into the school together, but Brittany intersects me at the door.

"I need to talk to you," she says.

Mike makes eye contact with me and mouths, "Good luck," and heads inside.

I follow Brittany inside too, and she takes me to the choir room, which is empty this early in the morning.

"Santana and I are dating," she tells me.

Jesus Christ. I am so not in the mood to get into this right now.

"Does she know that you're telling me this?" I ask.

Brittany's expression doesn't change. "She know that you know," she says.

I say, "I only had my suspicions. Why are you telling me this?"

She said, "Because it's really confusing for me, and I think you can help me."

Last year I helped Kurt come to terms with his homosexuality, and I don't know if I have it in me right now to be anyone else' mentor.

But Brittany is so sweet and endearing that I can't help but sit down next to her and say, "What are you confused about?"

Brittany says, "Santana won't let me tell anyone. And all I want to do is hold her hand."

Adorable.

I say, "Britt, coming out isn't easy. You know that, right?"

"I don't know why she let the whole world know that she loved Karofsky, but she won't tell anyone she loves me."

Sighing, I say, "It's great that you understand that love is love, Brit," I say, "But I know you know the rest of the world isn't as willing to accept that."

She nods. "But Blaine, Santana was furious that _you_ know about us. Maybe the rest of the world isn't ready, but I'm pretty sure you're gay too, right? So it shouldn't matter that you know."

"She's afraid I'm going to tell someone else," I say, "She's just scared."

Because the world is not kind to our kind.

Brittany nods. "Blaine, is it really that bad?" she asks, "I mean, are people really so awful that someone as fierce as Santana Lopez should have to hide who she is."

What a difficult fucking question to answer.

My ribs hurt like hell because my homophobic father kicked them in an attempt to scare me straight, and I have to answer this question.

"I guess you just have to find the people who aren't awful. You and Santana already have that with glee," I say, "But it's hard to say. Kurt and I get by at McKinley without too much harassment, but I know a lot of work has gone into ensuring that. Santana herself worked to ensure that."

Brittany says, "I just feel like the longer Santana keeps this secret, the fewer friends she's going to have left. Secrets make her angry."

Secrets make me angry too. I want to punch something really bad right now.


	22. I'm such a fucking liar

After a couple of days, the bruises on my arms, back and ribs are fading to a sickening green, and I have committed myself to not telling a soul about what happened. I haven't even seen my father since our fight, and I've still been going to glee rehearsal despite a nagging fear that he's going to show up the school and catch me in the act.

Kurt and I are standing by his locker before lunch, making plans to see a play this weekend, and without thinking, he leans in and kisses me. Without thinking, I kiss him back.

And then I feel both of our bodies being slammed into the lockers.

"Hey faggots! We don't fucking need to see that!"

It's some huge football player who is already walking away before I have time to react. I start forward with my fists up, but Kurt grabs my arm.

"Blaine!" he says, "Jesus, just let it go!"

It's not like this stuff doesn't happen to us every day, but today I just want to fucking fight back.

"Why?" Kurt is holding my arm right on top of the bruise where my father grabbed my arm. I wrench it out of his grasp. "Why shouldn't I fucking fight back?" I ask, glaring down the hall at the football player.

He looks frightened, and I just want to punch something. I start following the football player down the hall.

"Blaine!" Finn appears in front of me and cuts me off. "It's not worth it, dude. Just cool off."

"Why?"I ask again, as Kurt stands beside Finn, blocking my path. The football player doesn't even notice what is happening as he walks away. "We shouldn't have to just stand back and take it!"

If it had been anyone but Finn to stop me, the anger might not be so pronounced. He's a football player. Kurt's his brother. He should be confronting that asshole alongside me.

Kurt says, "Blaine, just relax. Why are you so upset? He's just ignorant. You know that. He didn't hurt us."

I roll my eyes, fuming. Finn says, "I'll talk to Parker, okay, Blaine? Just chill out."

I glare at Finn. My hands are shaking.

I'm in a rage.

"Fine," I say, "I'm sorry. I just don't need this crap today. I'm going to the gym."

I need to punch something.

When I get to the gym, it feels fucking good to punch something. I punch and I punch and I punch.

I mean, why the fuck should I have to accept that if I want to kiss my boyfriend at school, I'm going to get shoved into my locker? Why should I have to just take that?

I am so tired of hiding from my problems.

I keep boxing with the punching bag until my blood doesn't feel quite so hot. When I finally take my gloves off, Kurt is sitting on the bench, watching me.

I go over and sit next to him, sweaty and tired but much calmer.

"Feeling better?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," I say, wiping sweat off of my face, "Much better. I just needed to punch something."

He frowns, looking a little weary. "Sometimes your anger scares me a little, Blaine."

I say, "It scares me too. I'm sorry. I just don't think it's okay that we still have to put up with that kind of shit."

"But we do have to put up with it, Blaine. You know that. I don't get why you choose today to get angry about it. What's going on?"

Rolling my eyes, I say, "Nothing in particular." I stand up. "I guess I'm just feeling a little but trapped in this town right now." I pull off my shirt. "And I need to shower."

Kurt grins. "I suppose you won't let me watch," he says teasingly.

I wink at him. "That's your call, babe." I grab my towel.

"Fuck, Blaine. Where did you get those bruises?"

I freeze for the briefest moment. I'd completely forgotten. I look down and rub the ugly greenish bruise on my ribs, "Oh dude," I say, grinning, "I totally forgot to tell you this. On… Monday, I guess it way, I was going down to the kitchen at like four in the morning because I was really hungry, and I didn't bother turning the lights on… I literally fell all the way down the stairs and landed against the railing. Look at this."

I turn around to show him the bruises on my back too. "I thought I'd broken my ribs or something. But they're just bruises."

Kurt laughs, and comes closer to inspect my wounds. "Jesus," he says, "That looks painful. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah," I say, "I mean, I forgot about it, didn't I? It only hurts if I bump into them."

He kisses me, and says, "Such a smooth, graceful boy. You should be a dancer."

I stick out my tongue and go for my shower.

I'm such a fucking liar.


	23. I'm that kind of asshole

My favourite class this term is calculus, because I'm really good at it, and most of the other kids in the class are in so far over their heads they almost cry every class.

I realize that it's not really cool to take pleasure from other people's pain, but seriously, sometimes it feels good to be better than people at stuff.

It's not really a secret that I like to be successful.

But I have yet to get a higher grade than Quinn Fabray, and it wouldn't be so frustrating if she wasn't so cold to me.

Every time we are told to get into partners to work together, I make a point to choose Quinn. She usually just rolls her eyes and ignores me while we work independently.

At Bellville, I might have made some stupid comments about Lucy's weight or her braces once or twice. And I hate that I did that. I was popular and I wanted to stay that way.

Everyone else was doing it.

I hate that I was once that guy.

I hate that somewhere inside, I might still be that guy.

But I've heard stories about Quinn Fabray. She is nothing like the Lucy I made fun of. She made Rachel Berry's life hell for years, and she never dated a boy she didn't cheat on.

Lucy is allowed to hate me, but Quinn isn't.

Today I ask her, "When are we going to stop pretending that closet-Blaine and Lucy are the same people as gay-Blaine and Quinn? Can't we just be friends?"

Quinn laughs out loud. "If it were really that simple to separate who we are from who we used to be, the world would be a simpler place, Blaine."

I'm impressed by the speed of her comeback, and I say, "Well why make things complicated? I made fun of you in middle school. How many people have you made fun of in high school?"

She says, "Honestly, Blaine, just because I'm a bitch doesn't justify you being an asshole."

I say, "But I'm sorry. Seriously. Do you think that a gay kid in Ohio doesn't understand how much it sucks to be picked on? If I could take back the immature crap I did when I was hiding from myself, I would. But I can't."

Quinn sets down her pencil. "Blaine, you don't get it, do you? At Bellville, you were the golden boy. You weren't even in my grade, but every girl I knew had a crush on you. Everyone at that school knew and adored you. You were the violin prodigy who was good at sports and good at making people laugh. Everyone wanted to be you. Everyone wanted to fucking _marry _you."

"You're crazy," I say, taken aback, "I was never _that_ popular."

"Whatever," Quinn says, "Maybe you were always just too self-absorbed to realize the effect you had on people. All I know is that I thought you were cool. _I _was one of those girl who wanted to marry you. I was in love with you in the hopeless and pathetic way that only ugly fourteen-year-old girls can be in love with beautiful and talented boys with amazing hazel eyes. And you usually stuck up for me. You usually tried to get people to be kind to me. But then one time you said something stupid, and it broke my heart. I'm sorry if I can't just forgive you for that. Closet-Blaine one of the main reasons that Quinn had to kill Lucy. I wanted to make myself into someone that he could love."

Fuck.

I don't even know what to say. Even when I was in the closet, I never intentionally flirted with a girl or tried to make her fall in love with me.

Quinn says, "And then last year I saw you perform the Warblers, and it freaked me out. A lot of really fucked up feelings came back to me."

I say, "Quinn, I don't know what you want me to say."

She tilts her head, and adds, "And then I found out that you were dating Kurt. That you're gay. Which makes _so much_ sense. But it also broke my heart."

"You know," I say, "Even when I was supposedly in the closet, I never once dated a girl or deliberately did anything to suggest that I was heterosexual. I might not have ever said that I was gay, but I never said that I was straight either."

She says, "But you certainly never said that you weren't straight."

"Like it's an easy thing to say?"

She says, "Of course not. And Blaine, I objectively have a lot of respect for your confidence and whatever. I'm sure you're a wonderful person. But we're never going to be friends. Maybe Lucy is relatively insignificant in your life, but closet-Blaine isn't insignificant in mine. I don't hate you, but we're not friends. So just leave me alone, okay?"

I really don't like it when people don't like me.

I really don't like that I'm the kind of person who needs people to like me.

I can't believe that I'm the kind of asshole who breaks girls' hearts just by being gay.


	24. Will jump ships for a pretty boy

Sectionals is right around the corner, and we're competing against the Warblers, which is honestly a little weird for me. I haven't really talked to any of those guys since I left Dalton, except on Facebook, and it kind of sucks that the first time I'll see them again is when I'm their competition.

The rest of the New Directions haven't forgotten that I used to be a Warbler either. Today, Mr. Schue announces that he's determined our set list for Sectionals.

The first thing Puckerman says is, "Should we really talk about this with Blaine in the room?"

I look up in shock. "What?" I ask, annoyed, "Why should you?"

Puck asks, "How do we know you're not going to go blabbing our set list to the Warblers?"

I am seriously tired of him and Finn trying to get everyone else to hate me.

"Why would I do that?" I ask, "I'm not a Warbler anymore. I want the New Directions to win just as much as any of you."

"Please," says Puck, "We all know you're only here for Kurt. How are we supposed to believe that you would just drop all your loyalty to the blazer brigade?"

I look to Kurt for help. He looks just as shocked as I feel.

Mr. Schue says, "Puck, Blaine has never given us any reason to believe that he isn't fully committed to the New Directions. This kind of tension in the group is exactly what is going to make us _lose_ at Sectionals!"

I say, "I left Dalton for more reasons than just Kurt. The Warblers are my friends, but I'm a competitive guy. I'm not gunna let my team lose just because I have friends on the other team."

Mercedes says, "Puck, you're being an ass. Blaine's one of our best performers. Don't let your jealousy stop us from winning Sectionals."

"My _jealousy_?" Puck looks insulted. "Mercedes, I have _nothing_ to be jealous of this guy about. I just don't think it's a good idea to trust a guy who we already know will jump ships for a pretty boy."

"Shut up, Puck," says Artie, "You have no idea what you're talking about."

I've never had much to do with Artie, so it's nice for him to stick up for me.

"Enough!" says Mr. Schue, "I will not hear another word. Blaine is one of us, and I expect better from you, Puck! The New Directions is about acceptance, and if you can't embrace that, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

The rehearsal goes on, but both Puck looks seriously annoyed.

Finn, who hadn't said a word, looks even more annoyed.

I'm probably more annoyed than anyone.

Except maybe Kurt.


	25. Love the spotlight as much as your mom

"Dad doesn't want me to do glee club," I tell Mom when I go to visit her, "And I think that half of the guys in glee club want me out too. I might not go to Sectionals.

She looks scandalized. "What on earth? Don't be ridiculous. You love performing. Your dad doesn't have to know."

I say, "He works with one of the other kids' moms. He'll find out."

"So let me talk to him," Mom says, "Your dad has no right to stop you from being in glee. Why on earth should he care?"

Shrugging, I say, "It's too gay for him, I guess."

She rolls her eyes. "Well. He's gunna have to get used to that."

But mom was married to him for eight years. She knows he's never going to get used to it.

"Don't call him," I say, "It'll only make him angry."

She bites her lip, studying me closely. "Is he being too hard on you, Blaine? Honestly?"

I shake my head. "He's an ass," I say, "But it's easy to ignore. He's not around very often."

My mom is like a walking lie detector, but I happen to be very good at lying. If she senses anything false in what I say, she doesn't let on.

I continue, "I'm just worried that if he hears I'm still doing glee after he asked me not to, he's going to freak out."

"Don't quit glee just to please him," she urges me, "Your dad is a difficult man, but you shouldn't be afraid of him. He only has power if you give it to him."

I say, "Yeah, but if I go to Sectionals, I kind of give him the power. Because then I've deliberately disobeyed him."

Mom says, "Well, I'm just as much your parent as he is, and I give you permission. He can take it up with me."

If only it were that simple.

I say, "Some of the guys in the club think that I'm spying for the Warblers. They just make everything uncomfortable. I feel like if I skipped sectionals, a lot of tension could be avoided."

"If you skip sectionals, you're letting them win," Mom counters, "Just go, do your best, and prove them wrong."

She's obviously right, but I'm just in such a strange head space right now that I can't make myself commit to anything.

She says, "You have to go to Sectionals. I'm going to get a pass and come watch you."

I swallow. "Are you sure that that's a good idea?"

Waving her hand in dismissal, Mom says, "Of course it's a good idea. I need a night out."

I say, "Okay. I'll do Sectionals. But only because I love you."

She grins. "You love me," she says, "But you love the spotlight just as much. I'm just glad I can give you an excuse to admit it."

She's obviously right.


	26. No way that this is going to end well

"You're not letting that bullshit Puck said bug you, are you?" Mercedes asks me backstage before Sectionals, "Because none of us think what he said was true."

I look at Kurt. We've discussed this and he's tried to convince me that Puck is the only one who thinks it, but I'm still convinced that others think so too.

We're sitting with Mercedes, Rachel, Tina, Artie, and Mike. They all watch me for my response to Mercedes' question.

I say, "How can I not let it bug me? I was accused of being a spy. That hurts. But I'm not going to freak out or anything, if that's what you think."

Artie says, "Puck's don't know what Puck's problem is. I don't want you to feel like you're not welcome in the New Directions, because you are. We love you."

Mike nods. "You're not just Kurt's boyfriend to us, either. You're one of us. So don't let Puck bug you."

Kurt says, "This is what I've been trying to tell him, but he won't listen. _Thank_ you guys."

"We're gunna win Nationals because we have you, Blaine," Rachel says, "So screw Puck. You're ours."

I laugh. "Well thank you guys. It really means a lot to hear that."

It means a whole lot. Especially from Rachel. I always thought she might be on Finn's side about me. But she hugs me and I feel a lot better.

Finn approaches our little circle, and says, "Dudes, take a look at this crowd. This is _sectionals_, and there are zillions of people out there."

We all sneak out of our warm up room to stare out at the audience forming in the auditorium. I start to get excited about performing. I love crowds.

And then I see a tiny Filipino woman walking beside a handsome white man in a designer suit, and my heart stops beating for a fraction of a second.

"Holy fucking shit," I say, "My _parents _are here."

I take a step backwards, shocked at the sight of my mom and dad together, and I walk right into Finn.

He jumps back and says, "Your parents? Is that a bad thing?"

I'm still staring at them, hoping that what I'm seeing isn't real. "What the fuck?" I mutter under my breath.

Rachel says, "My dads are here too! Yay! I'm so excited!"

I turn away and stagger to lean against the wall and collect my thoughts. Why is my dad here? Why is he here _with my mom_?

There is no way that this is going to end well.

"Are you okay, dude?" Finn asks. He's the only one who has noticed my sudden emotional wreckage.

I make eye contact with him and can't even think of a single thing to say.

"Blaine?"

I blink, give my head a little shake to snap out of it, and say, "I'm just surprised to see my parents here together is all."

Finn raises his eyebrows. "You said they were divorced, didn't you? I guess that's a little weird."

I nod. And then I realize that Carole and Burt are probably in the audience too. I cannot bear to imagine what would happen if they were to meet my dad.

Kurt joins me, and says, "You look pale, Blaine."

Finn says, "His parents are here."

My boyfriend does a double take. "His parents… shit. Seriously, Blaine?"

I nod. "They're sitting together. Oh my god. This is not good."

"Chill, Blaine," says Finn, "I'm sure they're just trying to show you that they support you.

I ignore Finn, because he has no idea what he's talking about, and so does Kurt. He puts his arm around me, and says, "Breathe, Blaine. It's not necessarily going to be bad. Come on."

I squeeze his hand and whisper, "What if she's talking to him about you? What if they meet your parents? Oh my god. Oh my god. He made me swear I'd quit glee club. He's gunna kill me tonight. Oh my god. You can't let him see us together, Kurt."

Finn looks seriously concerned, and I wish he would just go away.

Kurt says, "I'll text my parents and warn them not to say anything if they happen to meet. But I'm sure it'll be fine. Your mom's smart enough to keep her mouth shut… isn't she?" Kurt is anything but certain.

"Your dad doesn't know you're gay?" asks Finn. He sounds a little disturbed.

I turn away from Finn, and whisper to Kurt, "I don't think I can do this. I need to go talk to them."

Kurt grips my arm. He says, "Blaine, relax. There's nothing you can do about this. They're already here. You just perform for your mom, and forget that he's here. Okay?"

"Don't you _live_ with your dad?" asks Finn, still intruding.

Kurt says impatiently, "Finn, can you just give us a moment here? This is none of your business."

Finn looks a little annoyed and a little embarrassed, but he walks away.

Kurt takes me by the shoulders. "Blaine, I know things are tough between you and your dad, but if you're too afraid to even perform in front of him, there's a serious problem."

I lie, "It's not that. I'm just worried about my mom. I don't think she should be in that crowd. I know she shouldn't be around my father. This isn't good."

He says, "Blaine, I'm sure the hospital wouldn't have let her go if they didn't think she could handle it. You need to trust your parents. It'll be okay."

I nod. "Okay. Yeah. Sure. I'll deal with it later. Fuck. I don't need this right now."

Kurt asks, "Your dad really told you to quit glee?"

I nod. "He says it makes him uncomfortable that I sing and dance with other dudes. Which is why I can't figure out why he's here."

Kurt kisses me. "You're adorable when you're stressing out, Blaine, but now is not the time. Your parents love you, and they're here to see you sing. Even if there's more to it, that's what you need to tell yourself right now. You need to stay focused on the performance. Can you do that?"

I nod another time. "Yeah." I take a deep breath. "Let's do this."

We go back to the practice room and start warming up.


	27. We are going to have a good long talk

I go on stage with the New Directions and perform the way I love performing. I love the feeling of the lights on my head and the eyes on my face. I love the feeling of my voice blending with the other voices and my movements synchronizing with other movements. I love the warm rush of pride when the audience gets to their feet with applause at the end of the performance.

But I hate the guilty, anxious feeling that lingers under my stomach. I'm glad I have no solos, because I'm not fully engulfed in the performance high that I usually get in packed auditoriums.

I can see my parents in the audience.

I can see the Warblers in the audience.

I can feel the tension between me and Puck.

Between me and Finn.

Between me and Santana.

Between me and Quinn.

I'm even annoyed at Kurt, even though I have no right to expect him to understand things that I've never really talked to him about.

But Kurt and Rachel perform magnificently, and when we hit our final poses, I do feel a moment of performance euphoria—at least until I make eye contact with my mom and see the panic in her eyes. My dad is gripping her arm, and she is struggling to break free. As we take our bows, Dad is dragging her out of the auditorium, and she is shouting at him.

The cheers and applause drown her out, but I make eye contact with Kurt and know that he noticed.

We exit the stage, and Mr. Schue tries to shepherd us back to the warm-up room, but I sneak away to try to find my parents.

"Blaine!" I'm intersected by a crowd of blue blazers with red piping before I get more than a few steps away from the New Directions.

I blink and look around at the Warblers, who are all grinning and crowding around to give me hugs.

"Hey! Great to see you guys. You sounded _amazing_ up there!"

Wes says, "We sure did! I hope you're ready to watch us take home the trophy."

I laugh distractedly, trying to see past the crowd to see if I can glimpse my parents. "Oh please," I say, "We crushed you guys. I'm so sorry for your loss."

Thad messes up my hair, "We'll see," he says, "Jesus, Blaine, we've missed you. You need to come visit some time."

I nod. "I know. I miss you guys too."

"Fraternising with the enemy, are we?"

I hear Puckerman's voice behind me and I groan, turning around. "Just saying hi to my friends, Puck," I say.

I'm never going to find my mom now.

The Warblers say goodbye and disappear into their warm-up room, and Puck says, "I'm kidding, Blaine. We clearly kicked their asses, and you helped. Sorry."

Well that's a relief. I smile distractedly at him and say, "Thanks."

He says, "Listen, I want to…"

I see my dad storming down the hall toward me, and Puck stops talking when he sees the fear on my face. "What?" he asks, turning around.

I take a few steps backward, even though I know my dad is much too concerned with his own image to touch me in public. "Hi Dad!" I say loudly, trying to give Puck a clue to go away.

Puck doesn't move. He watches as Dad approaches me, and I try to remove the terror from my face.

"Where's Mom?" I ask.

Dad's eyes narrow in anger, and he says, "Her nurse took her home. Blaine…" He glances at Puck in hesitation, and then says, "We are going to have a good long talk when you get home, alright?"

I swallow, trying to keep my face blank, and nod. "See you at home."

I turn away from him just as Mr. Schue shows up and calls me and Puck back into the warm- up room.

I avoid eye contact with Puck and return go into the room, where Kurt immediately pulls me in for a hug.

"Okay, follow me," Mr Schue says. "Back to the stage!"

It's time to get the results.

I'm in a distracted, nervous haze as I shuffle along with the rest of the choir back onto the stage. Maybe I shouldn't go home tonight. Maybe I should never go home at all. I could sleep in the choir room and shower in the gym. Or I could stay with Kurt. What is Dad going to do tonight? What is he going to say? What is going to happen?"

"And in first place… the New Directions!"

Everyone jumps around in excitement and hugs each other, and I push my family out of my mind for a brief moment of celebration.

We're going to Regionals.

Well… they are, anyway.


	28. Punch something besides a punching bag

Kurt pulls me into a corner after we get off the stage. He asks me, "Is your mom okay?"

I shrug, trying to stay casual like it isn't a big deal. "I talked to my dad," I say, "He sent her home with the nurse. I'm sure she's in good hands."

He nods, hugging me tightly. "I saw them leaving the auditorium. She looked upset."

Closing my eyes, I say, "I knew it was a bad idea for her to be here. I told her not to come."

Kurt keeps hugging me and doesn't say anything for a while. "Did your dad seem angry when you talked to him?"

I shake my head. "I think he's annoyed that I didn't tell him I was still doing glee, but he can't do anything about it."

I am a fucking liar.

Kurt says, "If there's anything I can do…"

I kiss him, take a deep breath, and say, "I'm fine, hon. I probably overreacted before. I just hadn't seen my mom and dad in the same room together since I was eight years old, so it was a bit of a shock."

He frowns at me, and says, "Are you sure? I know that family stuff is never simple."

Smiling, I say, "It isn't simple," I agree, "But it's okay. I'll call my mom later and make sure everything is okay. I think she just got overwhelmed by the crowd."

He kisses me again.

"Hey lovebirds!" We look up from our kiss to see Burt standing over us, looking a little uncomfortable.

Kurt and I step back from each other, and Kurt hugs his dad.

"You guys were unbelievable up there," says Kurt's dad, "You should be very proud."

"Thanks, Burt," I say, shaking his hand.

Burt nods. "You ready to go, Kurt?"

Kurt picks up his bag, and glances at me. "Do you want to come over or something?"

I say, "No, I should go home and talk to my dad. I'll see you at Sugar's party tomorrow!"

Kurt kisses me goodbye, and leaves.

I say goodbye to the rest of the choir and exit the building.

I call the nursing home as soon as I'm alone in my car.

"I'm sorry," the nurse tells me, "Your mom really isn't able to talk right now."

"Is she alright? Can I visit?"

Janet says, "She's just pretty overwhelmed from the concert tonight. I'm sorry Blaine. Give it a few days. She's not doing so well."

My stomach is in knots. "Just tell her I love her, okay?"

"Of course," says Janet.

I go home ready for a fight. It's not like I don't know how to punch. It's not like I can't take a little pain. It's not like I don't know that I'm in the right here.

When I walk through the door, Dad is sitting at the dining room table with his usual glass of scotch. He's clearly been waiting for me, because he's just sitting there, staring.

I brace myself and take a few steps forward. I say, "Dad, you can't make me quit glee. I'm a musician. I can't play violin anymore, but I can still sing, and I'm not going to give that up. You can't make me."

He stands up and steps toward me. "I'm not mad that you're in glee," he says, "I'm mad that you _lied _to me about it!"

"I never told you I had quit glee," I say.

He steps closer, clearly trying to back me into the door, but I step forward too, refusing to give him power.

"But I asked you to, and you disobeyed me."

I say, "I don't see how what I do on my own time should affect you. You've made it quite clear that you want nothing to do with me."

His lip curls in anger. "You are my son," he says, "And how you live your life will always affect me. Now, I don't know if it was the violin lessons, the crazy mother, or my own failings as a father than led you down this fucked up homo road, but I'm not just going to let you keep going down that path."

"I'm not going to quit glee club," I say, "And if you try to make me, I'll run away. I'll report you to the police for hitting me. But you can't take that away from me."

He steps forward and punches me in the face, and I'm so stunned that I automatically swing forward and hit him back.

It feels fucking good to punch something other than a punching bag.

Dad takes a step back and puts his hands up in surrender. "_Fuck_," he says, "Jesus. Blaine, I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you."

My nose is bleeding and I'm probably going to have a black eye to explain away. Fuck him.

"So why are you trying to tell me who I can't be?" I retort, shouting, "If you didn't want to hurt me, you'd let me be me,"

He balls his fists, taking a deep breath. "Blaine," he says in a quiet, warning tone, "I can't do this. If you want to humiliate our whole family in glee club, be my guest. But I don't want to know anything about it. You are my son and I will always love you, but I do not have to love the things you do."

I grab a towel to stem the bleeding of my nose. "You are fucking unbelievable," I say, "Just… fuck you, dad. Fuck you."

He grabs his car keys and leaves the house.

I look in the mirror and start to cry.


	29. Distract me from this feeling

I call Kurt. "Oh my god," I say, making sure that my voice sounds shaky and scared, which isn't hard, because I'm still pretty shaky and scared from my fight with my dad. "I just nearly died in a car accident."

"What?" my boyfriend screeches on the other end, "Are you okay? What happened?"

I say, "I was just driving home from Sectionals and this idiot ran a red light. I had to slam on the brakes so hard that I rammed my face into the steering wheel. My nose won't stop bleeding."

I am such a fucking liar.

Kurt sounds audibly relieved. "But you're okay? You didn't actually hit anything?"

"No," I say, "But it scared the shit out of me."

I can hear the smile in his voice when he says, "Aw. Blaine, there's no harm done. Are you still in your car?"

"I'm at home," I say, "But I can't stop shaking."

He says, "I love you, Blaine. Do you want me to come over?"

"No," I say, "My dad could be home any time. I just needed to hear your voice. I love you, Kurt. I hope you'll still love me if I have a black eye tomorrow."

He says, "Better a black eye than what could have happened."

"No kidding," I say, "I saw my life flash before my eyes."

"Aw. You shouldn't be alone right now. Do you want to go out? I'll take you to the movies."

I nod, and then realize he can't see me. "That sounds wonderful," I say, "I need something to distract me from this feeling."

He says, "I'll be there in ten minutes."

I am _such_ a fucking liar.

And the stupid part of it is that I know full well that life would be a lot easier if I just told the truth.


	30. Dude, you're a total stud

Sugar holds a victory party for the New Directions at her family's mansion the day after Sectionals, and by the time I get there, my nose is swollen and I have dark blue rings under both of my eyes. I'm determined to stick to my steering wheel story, but as a boxer, I think it's kind of obvious that I've been punched in the face. I can only hope that nobody in New Directions will know the difference.

When I get the party, the music is loud and everyone is dancing and eating and drinking and having a good time.

"Dude," Finn says, "Kurt told me about your car accident. That looks _brutal_."

I grin, and say, "Could be a lot worse."

I repeat the same thing to everyone who comments on my face for the rest of the night.

Kurt and I join in on a game of Wii bowling with Tina and Mike, which is fun, but I'm not really in the mood to party. Everything is too loud and everyone is too happy, and my mind is too full of confusion and anger to really want to enjoy myself.

I usually love parties.

After our bowling game ends, Kurt gets distracted by karaoke with Rachel and Mercedes, and I slip quietly out the back door. I stand by the balcony and stare into Sugar's back yard, which overlooks a man-made lake that twinkles in the man-made light.

I miss Dalton. I hate feeling scared in my own house, and I hate that I'm too scared to do anything about it.

I'm supposed to be this super-confident, courageous guy. At Dalton, I promised myself that I'd never go back to a life where I let bullies rule my life.

But I guess I never really expected that my own father would be the bully.

"Hey Blaine."

I jump, startled, and turn around to see Noah Puckerman closing the door behind him. He joins me at the balcony, and says, "I saw you sneak out. I need to talk to you."

I look up at him. He's quite a bit taller than me, and he looks just as awkward as I feel surprised. What does Puck want?

"What do you want?" I ask. I can't help but feel a little bit resentful of him.

He lights a cigarette and I roll my eyes. "I think you're a liar," he tells me, pulling smoke into his lungs.

I raise my eyebrows. "What? Puck, I didn't tell the Warblers anything. And we won anyway. What is your problem?"

Puck shakes his head and exhales the smoke. "I'm not talking about the Warblers. I'm talking about those black eyes."

I freeze for a moment and then raise my eyebrows, coughing and waving smoke out of my face. "If you're gunna smoke, you need to stand downwind," I tell him coldly, ignoring his comment, "I'm asthmatic."

Puck rolls his eyes and stubs out his cigarette. "Fine, but don't change the subject," he says, "You didn't hit your face on your steering wheel."

I say, "Why would I lie about that? I have nothing to hide."

"Bullshit," says Puck, "I've been in enough fights to know what it looks like when someone gets punched in the face. Who hit you, Blaine? Was it your dad?"

My jaw drops and I look at him, trying to disguise my fear as outrage. "_What?_" I step back from the railing. "Why would you even say something like that?"

Puck is staring at me with a strangely knowing smirk. "Blaine, I saw you almost shit your pants yesterday when you dad approached you in the hall at Sectionals. You're terrified of him. It was obvious."

I lie, "I'm not afraid of my dad. I was worried about my mom. She was sick yesterday." My heart is pounding like fuck.

"Bullshit," Puck says, "Are you kidding me? He told you that you'd have a talk when you got home, and you went so pale I thought you were going to pass out. And why the fuck would you lie about getting punched if you didn't have a secret?"

I shake my head, pacing a little. "I almost got in a car accident. I hit my head on the steering wheel. Puck, you can't just say shit like that about other people's families. If my dad was hitting me, I wouldn't fucking put up with it. Trust me, I'm _done_ putting up with stuff."

"Blaine, I'm not gunna tell anyone," Puck says, "I've been there. My old man used to kick my ass daily. I had the same fucking excuses. I know it's not simple."

I stop pacing. "Your dad beat you?"

Puck shrugs, straightening his spine a little to remind me how much bigger than me he is. "A long time ago. And I lied about it for years. So you can't fucking fool me, Blaine."

I say, "I think you're seeing what's not there because you want to relate to someone. But you don't know what you're talking about."

"Fine," Puck says, "Keep lying about it. But when you decide you need help, let me know."

I keep staring at the fake lake.

Fuck.

If a guy I barely know figured it out, how long will it be before Kurt puts it together?

And why am I so afraid that he will? Why should I keep this secret? I have no love for my father. I have no reason to protect him. I have no reason to keep this secret.

"You know," says Puck, "I've realized something about you. Why I didn't like you at first."

I raise my eyebrows. "What?"

He says, "I knew there was something about you rubbed me the wrong way, but I was just being a homophobic ass, so I ignored it."

I wait to figure out where this is going.

He says, "But I really don't have a problem with gay people. And it didn't bug me to see you with Kurt. So then I thought I didn't trust you because of the Warblers."

Rolling my eyes, I said, "I thought we were past that."

"We are," says Puck, "Just hear me out. It's obvious that you're loyal to the New Directions now, so as soon as I said it out loud in rehearsal that day, I knew that it was something else about you that I didn't like."

I really don't need to be told why someone doesn't like me.

Puck says, "And then I was looking around the room the other day, trying to tabulate who in the room had slept with who, and I realized something. You're nailing 100% of the other gay guys in our school. That's a perfect track record, bro."

"Are you kidding me?"

He shakes his head. "Dude, you're a total stud. I didn't even consider that I might be jealous of you, because you're not a sexual competitor, but then I saw how much fun you can have just singing and dancing to anything you want without any concern for impressing anyone. Because you've already got Kurt wrapped around your finger. It's fucking bad-ass, dude."

I laugh genuinely for the first time in a long time. "Alright," I say, "So are you jealous of Kurt too? He's got the same track record as I do."

Puck shakes his head. "Nah. I threw Kurt in too many dumpsters when we were younger for me to ever be jealous of him. Besides, he's too girly. You though… I think a lot of dudes could learn a thing or two from you. Even the girls who know they have no chance with you are infatuated by your charms, dude."

I laugh again and Puck says, "So no hard feelings between us, okay? Respect."

He goes inside, and I try to figure out what just happened.


	31. Friendship is as easy as just saying so

"No offence, but you really can't pull off the black eye look," Santana tells me on Monday at school.

It's the first time she's talked to me in weeks, but I try not to make it a big deal. "Sorry," I say, "Should I tone down the green? Or is it the purple?"

Santana laughs, and says, "Definitely the green. Work on that, okay?"

I nod. "Noted."

We're walking to glee rehearsal, and we're the first ones there when we walk into the choir room.

I say, "So are you talking to me again?"

Santana's eye narrow and she shrugs. "It doesn't mean we're friends," she says.

"Oh come on," I say, "Give me one good reason why not."

She looks away from me and doesn't say anything. I say, "I haven't told a soul what I know, Santana."

"You've talked to Brittany about it," she counters in an accusatory tone.

I say, "Brittany approached me. And she obviously already knew. Santana, I think you and Britt both need friends like Kurt and I right now. You can't keep lying to everyone."

"You've told Kurt about me?" Santana's hair seems to rise on end in fury.

"No!" I say, "Although I think _you_ should. But come on, Santana. I'm not gunna pressure you to come out. I just think you need to talk about… you know… things."

Rolling her eyes, Santana snaps, "I don't need to talk about a thing. I _know_ who I am. I'm _fine _with who I am. I'm just not _stupid_ enough to announce it to all of Ohio. I just have to get through senior year and then get the hell out of Lima."

"No offence," I say, "But this is about more than you. Brittany is seriously confused about your relationship. And besides, if you think it's going to be any easier to come out anywhere else, you're crazy. At least here you're surrounded by people you love."

She says, "I thought you said you wouldn't pressure me to come out."

I say, "I'm not. I just think you need to think carefully about why you haven't."

"And you really think that you can help me with that? That _Kurt_ can help me with that?"

Shrugging, I say, "Probably. But more importantly, I just want to be friends again. You're cool."

Laughing, Santana says, "Fine. We're friends. But you still can't tell a soul a thing that you know."

I nod. "Cool."

She shakes her head. "God, you're easy to please," she says, "Do you really think that having friends is as easy as just saying the words?"

I think that the world would be a much better place if it were.

"I think that you've finally stopped pretending that you don't find our charming banter entertaining, and that's all that matters to me."

Santana punches me jokingly in the shoulder. "You're a cocky bastard," she says, "So I guess it's only logical that we should be friends."

I nod. Brittany comes into the room and joins us. "Are we friends with Blaine again?" she asks, looking at me with her wide blue eyes.

"Yeah," says Santana, "Blaine's cool."

Brittany says, "Great. Can I kiss you in front of him? I miss PDA like crazy."

Santana smirks, glances at the door, and says, "Do it quick."

They kiss and I almost blush because it's so adorable.


	32. His body is amazing

I haven't seen my mother since Sectionals, because every time I show up at the facility, the nurses tell me that she's having a bad day and ask me to come back later.

It's starting to really scare me because she hasn't had a stretch of bad days this long since I was about twelve years old.

After getting turned away from the facility again tonight, I drive to Kurt's house and call him from my car.

"Hello?" he answers.

"I'm outside your house," I say, "Are you busy?"

He pauses for a moment, and then says, "No. Come inside. Nobody else is home."

I go up to Kurt's room and sit on his bed.

"I thought you were going to visit your mom tonight," he says.

"They won't let me see her," I say. "Apparently she's having a bad day. Again."

I don't even try not to show how bummed out I am about it.

"Aw." Kurt sits down beside me on his bed. "I'm sorry, Blaine."

"I haven't even seen her since Sectionals," I say.

Kurt puts his arm around me. He looks especially gorgeous today in a deep purple shirt. "I know," he says, "That sucks."

He has no idea what else to say because there really isn't anything else to say, but his arm around me makes me feel better.

"I don't know why I'm stressing out about it," I say, "I know that there's nothing I can do. They take good care of her there. I know that they wouldn't keep me from her if it weren't in her best interest."

Kurt kisses my cheek, "You have every right to worry when you can't see your mother. Don't over-rationalize."

"I know." I turn to face him and kiss him in the mouth.

"You're amazing," I tell him.

He smiles and kisses me back. "I just wish there was something I could do to help"

I whisper, "Just distract me, okay"

I kiss him with more enthusiasm.

His lips respond immediately and they part to make room for my tongue.

Kurt is an amazing kisser.

His mouth is amazing.

His body is amazing.

Oh god. His hands are amazing.

Oh god.

Kurt and I are both virgins, but I don't really know why. We're ready.

"Do you want…" Kurt murmurs, pulling his lips off of mine momentarily.

I nod. "Oh god, yes," I whisper.

I want.

Oh god.

After, we lie in his bed, cuddling and not talking for a long time.

He is so good to me. And I feel so guilty for lying to him about my bruises.

If I know he can make me feel so much better, with his words _and_ with his body, why can't I just be honest with him about everything?

"Are you okay?" Kurt whispers after a while.

I turn and lie face to face with him. "I'm amazing," I say, "You?"

He nods with a bit of a blush. "Wonderful," he says. "I love you, Blaine."

"I love you too," I whisper.

And I do love him.

I don't think that keeping a secret about something that might never happen again is a bad thing. All that Kurt can do is worry and cause drama. It's not worth it.

Right?


	33. Sometimes I forget that I have a brother

My cell phone rings at ten o'clock tonight while I'm finishing my calculus homework, and I don't recognise the number.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Hey Blaine! How's it going buddy?"

I pause. "Good. Who's this?"

He says, "Oh come on, little brother, it's Coop!"

When I was little, my half-brother, Cooper, was my dad's pride and joy. He was handsome, smart, athletic, straight, and ten years older than me. Dad did everything with Cooper. He went everywhere with Cooper.

I can't remember them ever fighting.

But Cooper left Lima the day he graduated, and he hasn't been back since, so I think it's pretty obvious that there was more to that relationship than I realized.

Cooper lives in LA now, trying to make a living as an actor. I'm friends with him on Facebook, but I honestly haven't seen or spoken to him since I was eight years old—just before my parents' divorce.

Sometimes I forget that I even have a brother.

Half-brother.

"Blaine?" Cooper interrupts my stunned silence, "You there bud?"

I swallow. "Yeah. Hey Cooper. What's up?"

"I've been thinking about you lately, bro," he says, "Thought I'd call and catch up."

I can't imagine why he'd choose now to call. I wonder if he ever calls Dad. Or Mom.

"Um… well hi. You're still in LA?"

Cooper says, "Yes! Just finished shooting a great commercial for a credit rating company. You'll probably see it on TV next month."

He's obviously very proud.

"Congrats," I say, "That's great."

"Yeah," he says, "It's pretty great. So how about you? Still playing violin?"

I grimace. "Uh. No, I'm focusing more on singing now."

"Singing? Hey, that's _great_, bro. We'll get you on Broadway someday."

I smile, still stunned to hear his voice. There's no point in telling him the real story.

"You got a girlfriend?"

I laugh. "No, but I have a boyfriend," I say, kind of excited for his reaction.

"A boyfriend?" Cooper sounds startled, but he recovers quickly. "Well well well," he says, "Baby brother's playing for the other team, huh? Bet Dad _loves _that."

I laugh again. "Fuck no," I say.

I hear Cooper make a partially sympathetic, partially amused noise. He says, "Damn. Hang in there bro. You graduate next year, right? We'll get you out here in LA and it won't even matter."

"Okay," I say, "I'm sure that'll happen."

If Cooper hears the sarcasm in my voice, he gives no indication. "Well how's your mom doing?" he asks, "I keep meaning to call her."

I say, "She's having a bit of a rough patch right now. I haven't been able to see her in a few weeks."

Cooper is quiet for a moment. "Damn," he says suddenly, "She's still living in the home?"

"Yeah."

"I'm a terrible ex-step-son," Cooper says, "I haven't talked to her since the divorce."

I don't reply. I know that Mom misses him a lot.

Cooper says, "I should come out to Ohio some day. I'd like to see you again."

"Come for Christmas," I say.

How wonderful it would be not to spend the holidays alone with my father.

He pauses and says, "Nah, can't do December. Maybe February or March. Anyway, I should go. Nice talking to you, bro."

He hangs up abruptly, and I stare at my phone wondering if that really happened.

Why would Cooper call after all of these years if he had nothing important to say and didn't have time to talk about anything real?

Why did the call make me so angry?

Why have I never really tried to find out why Cooper cut himself off in the first place? Cooper must know so much more about my parent's divorce and my mother's breakdown that I do. He was ten years older. Why have I never thought to ask Cooper about it before?

I have half a mind to push the redial button and interrogate him, but I can't quite bring myself to do it. Cooper and I are strangers now. He can't help me.


	34. The punching bag keeps swaying

Today, we're rehearsing vocals for a new number we're going to perform at our Christmas concert, and Mr. Schue has to leave early to get to some meeting.

"Just because I'm leaving doesn't mean that rehearsal is over though," he says, "I want you guys to keep practicing this until you get it right! I'll see you tomorrow."

He leaves, and I say, "Okay, let's start from the bridge, don't you think?"

Immediately, Finn retorts, "Or we could start at the beginning… you know, so that we can learn the _whole _thing?"

I feel a flash of anger. He can never agree with anything I say. But if he wants to declare his supreme leadership, he can go for it.

We start practicing, and Finn struggles to master the harmonies for the bridge. He and I are the only ones singing the Tenor 2 part, so I feel obliged to help him, even though I know he's going to resent me.

I say, "You're not getting that top note right. Do you want me to sing it for you?"

He snaps, "I'll figure it out myself, Blaine."

"If you just listen, I'll show you…"

"No! I'll practice it later, Blaine."

Another flash of anger. I don't understand what I ever did to make him hate me so much.

We finish going through the song twice more, and then Finn says, "I think we should call it a night. We're all tired."

I say, "There's still half an hour until the rehearsal is supposed to end, and we still haven't come close to getting the song right. We should keep practicing."

I'm just begging him to get angry back now, but I'm sick of pretending I don't notice his resentment.

Finn glares at me, "This isn't even for a competition, Blaine. Come on."

"Oh, so just because it's not a competition, we shouldn't prepare ourselves?"

"We're not all obsessed with our own image, Blaine," Finn mutters.

I step forward, ready to fight. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?" I demand.

Finn says, "It means that maybe if you realized that glee club is about fun and community and not showmanship and attention, maybe you'd fit in here a little better." He steps forward too.

Do I really come across as that much of a douche-bag?

"If it's about community, why do you go out of your way to make sure I don't feel welcome," I retort, reaching forward to shove him. He shoves me back, and I raise my fist for a punch.

"Whoa whoa whoa, guys, guys guys," Mike and Puck are on their feet immediately to pull us away from each other.

"Calm the fuck down," Puck says.

I put my hands up and say, "Forget it." I storm out of the room and hear the resounding silence behind me.

I really need to punch something.

Finn finds me in the gym twenty minutes later. I'm drenched in sweat and punching the punching bag harder than I've ever punched anything in my life.

"Is that my face?" he asks, standing by the lockers and watching me.

I look up; the punching bag keeps swaying.

"Yeah," I say, punching again, "It's your face."

He raises his eyebrows and says nothing, watching me box.

"You have something to say?" I ask, wiping sweat off of my forehead.

Finn says, "You can really punch, can't you?" he asks, sounding impressed.

I roll my eyes and step back from the punching bag. "Trust me," I say, "If you'd been bullied as much as I have, you'd learn how to punch too."

He says, "Okay."

I feel a flash of anger, because here I am drenched in sweat and piping mad, but he seems completely calm. "What is your problem with me, anyway?" I ask, "Ever since I got here, you've given me nothing but crap."

He bites his lip and studies my face, not saying anything. I say, "I have done everything I can to try to earn your respect, but apparently nothing is good enough!"

Finn grimaces. "Dude, it's not like that. Honestly, I have plenty of _respect _for you. If I come across as rude, it's only because I get jealous of you."

I say, "Well, you need to stop treating me like a villain. It isn't fair to me."

He stares at the floor. "I'm sorry," he says, "I honestly don't mean to."

I say, "I need glee to be a safe place for me. And you're just making it a stressful place."

He says, "I can't help it. It's part of my chemistry. It's jealousy."

I roll my eyes, not buying it for a minute. "Bullshit," I say, "You're the most popular guy in the school. Everyone looks up to you. You have more natural talent than half the people in that room, and you work harder than all of us. Don't try to pretend you could ever be jealous of _me_."

He gapes at me. "Yeah," he says, "Maybe a year ago I would have believed what you just said about me. But then you showed up and made me question everything."

I raise my eyebrows.

He says, "You just freak me out a little. You intimidate me. You're_ eerily_ talented, and you're way more composed and articulate than I'll ever be. You make me realize how much of a loser I am. How much better Rachel could do."

Jesus Christ. And I thought I was insecure.

"Finn, that's _crazy_," I say, "You can't honestly believe that you're a loser. You know that Rachel loves you more than she loves music."

He grimaces. "Sure," he says, "I know that. But that doesn't change the way you make me feel. Jealous."

I say, "Well, I'm sorry. I don't know what you expect me to do about it."

He shrugs, laughing a little. "I didn't even realize that any of what I just said until I said it out loud. Now that I hear how immature and ridiculous it is… I think we'll be okay."

I smile uncertainly.

He says, "Listen, Blaine. You're my step-brother's boyfriend. We could be family some day. I want us to be friends. I'm sorry that I've been acting like an ass. But this whole year… senior year… it's so fucking confusing."

I nod, thinking of how stressed out Kurt has been.

Finn adds, "And then I started comparing myself to you, and it just scared the crap out of me. But I didn't really realize until today when I was yelling at you for no reason that I was punishing_ you_ for _my_ insecurities. I'm going to try to stop doing it now."

I feel like a weight has been lifted off of my chest after months of carrying it around. I take off my boxing gloves. "I'm sorry if I might have purposely antagonized you today," I say, "I was just sick of having to tip-toe around you."

"Don't worry about it," he says, "I think what happened was for the best. Now everything is out in the open, and we can start over. Right?"

"Right," I say, reaching out to shake his hand. "Friends?"

"Friends," he agrees.

Because deep down inside, I really do still believe that being friends is as easy as mutually agreeing that you will try.


	35. Prance around with your gay friends

The New Directions are holding a charity Christmas concert tonight to raise money for the food bank, but this morning Dad looks up from his newspaper at breakfast and says, "I want you to meet someone tonight. My new fiancé, Clara. We'll go to dinner at Breadstix."

I grimace. "You're engaged again?" I ask, annoyed at the thought of attending another of his weddings.

Dad nods. "She's a lovely woman. I'm sure you'll like her. We'll meet at six o'clock."

"I can't," I say, "I already have plans."

Dad sets down his newspaper immediately. "Excuse me?" he asks, "Maybe I wasn't clear. _I want you to meet my fiancé_."

"My show choir has a concert," I say pretending that saying it doesn't terrify me, "Can't we do this tomorrow?"

He stands up in a flash of temper. "Are you kidding me?" he snaps, "I told you never to mention that crap in my house. You're coming to dinner."

I shake my head, looking up at him. "Sorry, I can't just bail on them like that. You have to give me more than ten hours notice for stuff like this, Dad."

Sometimes when I talk to my dad, I pretend that he's a reasonable parent worth having a reasonable discussion with.

Dad grabs the back of my chair and slides it backward. I leap to my feet, determined not to be afraid. "I _said_," he shouts, "That you're _coming_ to dinner."

Why do I feel like I'm in the Beauty and the Beast?

"Dad, come on," I say, "If it was really so important to you that I know this woman, you'd have had me meet her before you got engaged. It can wait until tomorrow. Or whenever she's free again."

He grabs me by the collar of my shirt. "You insolent fucking bastard," he says, "You're not going to skip meeting your future step-mother just so that you can prance around with all of your gay friends. I will _see_ you at _Breadstix _ at _six_!" He shoves me with full strength on the last word, and I hurtle backwards.

My head hits the kitchen counter with a resounding _thwack_, and the world goes black.


	36. I fell down the stairs

I wake up in a hospital bed. My head feels like it's been slammed into a kitchen cabinet by someone I'm supposed to trust.

Oh wait.

Dad is sitting in the chair beside my bed; I'm in a private room. As soon as he sees me move, he slides his chair closer to my bed. "Blaine? Can you hear me?"

The anger cuts through the grogginess immediately, and I sit up.

"Shhh!" Dad puts his hand to my mouth and nudges me back down. I don't fight it, because sitting up so quickly has made me light-headed.

"You hit your head falling down the stairs," he tells me.

I say, "I've already used that excuse. And I'm not gunna lie for you this time, Dad. No fucking way."

He nods. "Blaine, you have every right to be furious with me, but you can't tell anyone about what happened."

I say, "Why shouldn't I Jesus _Christ_, Dad, I'm in the _hospital_. How long was I out?"

Dad says, "About an hour. You have a concussion. And I'm sorry. You have no fucking clue how sorry I am."

"And yet this is the third time you've _assaulted_ me, Dad. I'm not going to keep lying about it."

He rubs his eyes, clearly stressing the fuck out. "Blaine, I will personally drive you to your performance tonight and never say another word about your glee crap. I won't make you meet Clara. I will buy you anything you want. Just don't start anything at the hospital. They'll call Social Services, and you'll be put into foster care, and there'll be a whole investigation, and it will be a nightmare."

"Like my life isn't already a fucking nightmare?"

Dad says, "I will never lay a finger on you again. I will stay the fuck out of your life. Blaine, I may not like some of the choices you make, but I don't _ever_ want to hurt you again. I need to work on my temper. My dad used to beat me, Blaine, and I swore I'd never do the same to my sons. And yet here we are."

"You seriously think you can control yourself? Dad, I can't live in a house where I don't feel safe. I can't keep lying to my friends about the bruises."

Nodding, he says, "I know. Look, if it ever happens again, I will personally escort myself to the police station. I swear it. This was the last time. This was a wake-up call. Promise me this stays between us?"

I stare at him, angry because I know he's right. I don't want to start anything with Social Services. I don't want to go through any investigations. I don't want the whole world to know that my own father beat me up. I don't need the pity. I don't need people to think I can't take care of myself.

I say, "If it ever happens again, I'm packing my bags and moving out of your house. I have friends."

He nods, looking visibly relieved. "Thank you, Blaine," he says, "Thank you."

I say, "I fell down the stairs."


	37. I need the euphoria

I sleep for the next few hours because my head is killing me and I'm too disoriented and dizzy for the doctor to feel comfortable releasing me. They wake me up every hour to make sure I'm still alive, but I can't seem to keep my eyes open for more than five minutes without getting woozy.

By mid-afternoon, I'm feeling clearer-headed. A nurse tells me that they'll release me within the next hour.

It's five forty-five. The Christmas concert is supposed to start at six.

My dad isn't around, but I notice my cell phone on the table beside the bed, and I know he must have put it there.

If he looked through my text messages, I'm dead.

But I pick up my cell phone and am relieved to remember that it is password protected. I unlock it and my heart leaps when I see that I have seven missed calls and fourteen text messages, all from Kurt.

I was supposed to go to school today.

I hold my phone to my chest and think for a minute about what I'm going to tell Kurt. The falling down the stairs excuse worked for the nurses, but Kurt won't buy it—I've already used that excuse with him.

I dial his number, and he answers on the first ring.

"Blaine?"

I fake a cough, and say, "Hi Kurt."

"Where the fuck are you! I've been worried sick! We go on stage in less than an hour!"

I cough again, and say, "I'm in the hospital, Kurt." It's not hard to keep my voice weak, because talking hurts my head.

Kurt is silent for a stunned moment. Then—"The hospital? What happened? Oh my god!"

I say, "I had a really bad asthma attack this morning. I've been here all day."

I fake another cough, and Kurt's high-pitched worry hurts my head. I don't really listen to what he's saying. I feel woozy again.

I tune in again just in time to hear him ask, "Should I tell Mr. Schue you won't make it? Everyone is freaking out that you're not here."

"They say I'll be released within the hour," I say, "And my dad has promised to give me a ride. So I might be late, but I'll be there."

Kurt asks, "Should you really be performing today, though? It can't be good for your lungs."

I say, "I'll be okay. I'm feeling much better. There's no way I'm missing this concert. It's my first solo with the New Directions!"

He says, "Are you sure? You sound exhausted."

"Once I get up on that stage, the adrenaline will kick in and I'll be great. Don't worry about it. I've cleared it with my doctor."

Kurt still sounds uncertain, but he says, "Okay. Well, I'll tell Mr. Schue you could be late. I love you, Blaine. I'm glad you're okay."

I hang up the phone and close my eyes. Performing with a concussion is going to be a nightmare, but I'm not gunna let my dad's stupid temper take away my first chance at performing solo since Dalton.

I need to feel that euphoria again.


	38. My blood sliding around inside my skin

They give me some painkillers and tell me to rest for the weekend. Dad doesn't say a word to me as he drives me to school for the concert.

I have no visible injuries, because I hit the back of my head, and after sleeping for most of the day, I don't feel dizzy anymore. As the painkillers kick in, the pain in my head numbs to a fuzzy haze.

It's ten after six, and I don't realize until after Dad has dropped me off and driven away that I'm supposed to be wearing a suit and tie.

I'm wearing purple pants and a plaid shirt.

Fuck.

I go inside anyway. The doors to the April Rhodes Auditorium are closed, and I can hear Rachel's angelic voice pouring out inside. They've started without me. I go around to the stage door and slip backstage. The choir is on stage, but the jazz band is waiting backstage.

I go to the costume wardrobe and search as quickly as I can for a suit. I find a pair of black pants, which I switch with my purple ones without even bothering to go to a dressing room. I find a white button up shirt, which I pull over top of the shirt I'm wearing as I hear the choir chime out the closing notes to Angels we Have Heard On High.

"Here," Craig, the bass player from the Jazz band takes off his tie and hands it to me. I put it on gratefully. He unbuttons his own black suit jacket and hands it to me. "Take it."

I pull on the jacket, straighten the tie, and rush on stage just in time to take my place beside Kurt for Carol of the Bells.

He hugs me right on stage. "You made it!" he whispers, smiling widely as the girls start singing and we both turn to face the audience and prepare for the choreography and harmonies.

The arrangement of Carol of the Bells that Mr. Schue has chosen is one of my favourite things that we've done the whole year, and we perform it better than we've ever practiced

It's time for Kurt, Quinn, and Santana's trio, so the rest of the choir files off stage. My solo is next, and I can't wait to be back on stage.

"Blaine, you made it!" Mercedes gives me a hug. "Kurt told us you were in the hospital. We were all worried about you."

I grin. "I'm alright," I say, "I'm just bummed I missed the opening."

Rachel says, "Blaine, I'm happy to take your solo tonight if you're not feeling up to it."

I shake my head. "No way," I say, "I'm singing that song."

Artie sounds concerned. "Kurt said you had a severe asthma attack this morning. Are you sure it's a good idea to stress your respiratory system so soon?"

I take a deep breath in and out to prove that I'm breathing just fine. "They wouldn't have let me out of the hospital if there was still anything to worry about. I'm on so many drugs, I've never breathed better. Don't worry about me."

Tina and Mike laugh, but Finn says, "You seem a little spacey, Blaine. It must be the drugs. Just don't forget the words."

I grin at him, and say, "I won't. Relax. I was born to perform this song."

The lights backstage seem dimmer than they should be. I lean against the wall and feel my blood sliding around inside my skin. I close my eyes and feel my own heartbeat slamming blood into my skull with vengeance.

Ow.

The stage lights go down as Kurt, Quinn, and Santana finish their song, and Rachel nudges me toward the stage. I take a deep breath and step on the stage.

The jazz band starts playing, and I take a deep breath as a spotlight flicks on and traps me in a circle of shimmering gold. I take the microphone and start to sing.

The Nat King Cole Trio first recorded The Christmas Song in 1944, but 67 years later, I'm on a stage in Ohio singing it like I've never heard it before.

I feel like I can hear everything around me a hundred times clearer than usual. My voice echoes around in my head and it sounds amazing. My limbs feel strange, like they're not quite connected to me, which makes dancing feel awesome.

I get so lost in the beauty of the music and how cool it feels to move that I completely forget that there's an audience. When they start clapping, I feel suddenly like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, about to fall off.

Sudden, intense vertigo.

It's a standing ovation.

My heart pounds and my head spins and I feel such euphoria I think I might pass out. I take a bow, swaying a little, and exit the stage, grinning like a five-year-old leaving a candy store.

Wow. I fucking love performing.

I get tackled in a group hug back stage. Everyone loved my performance.

"Unbelievable," Rachel says, "I've never seen you perform like that before. Brilliant."

High praise from a girl who never praises anyone.

Kurt kisses me. "You are insanely talented, Blaine," he says, "Don't ever forget it."

I kiss him back, and say, "You were wonderful too."

We all file back onto stage to close the show with We Wish You A Merry Christmas, but I don't know for sure if I'm actually participating in the performance. I feel like I'm watching from the audience. I feel detached from my body.

When we all link hands and lean forward for a bow, I very nearly throw up all over the floor.

I don't let go of Kurt's hand as we exit the stage.

My ears won't stop ringing.

Everyone laughs and hugs and congratulates each other back stage, but I go straight to the bathroom and vomit in the toilet.

Kurt comes in a few seconds later and helps me clean up. "I'll take you home," he says, "Come on."

I find myself in my bed a few hours later and I don't have a clue how I got here.


	39. Attached to my body

I meet Kurt, Finn, and Rachel at the movies the next night for a double date, feeling much more coherent and kind of embarrassed because I can't really remember anything that happened last night after I changed my pants backstage.

I have a huge lump on the back of my head and an awful headache, but I feel like a human again. I feel attached to my body again.

Finn, Rachel, and Kurt are all sitting around a table outside of the theatre, sipping pop and munching on popcorn when I get there.

They all wave at me and their stares all linger a little too long for my preference. I join them. "Hey guys," I say, grinning sheepishly to let them know I'm aware what they're all thinking.

"How're you feeling, babe?" Kurt asks, smiling at me like I'm the most adorable thing he's ever seen. He kisses me hello.

I say, "_Much_ better. Jesus Christ, yesterday was a gong show, wasn't it? I don't even remember going on stage."

Rachel and Finn laugh, and Kurt kisses me again. Finn says, "You performed great, Blaine. Better than ever."

"You made people cry," Rachel says, nodding in her earnest way, "It was breathtaking."

Kurt says, "I'd never been prouder."

I laugh, and say, "Great. Well that's a relief."

"Well, the performance was fine," says Kurt, "But you kind of fell apart after it was over."

Finn nodded. I grimaced. "Oh jesus," I say, "What happened?"

Kurt says, "I found you throwing up in the bathroom, and then you just sort of zoned out."

"Kurt and I drove you home and helped you up the stairs to the front door," Finn says, "But your dad wouldn't let us come inside to make sure you got to bed okay. I guess it all worked out though."

I can practically feel my heart hit the bottom of my chest as it drops in panic. "You met my dad?" I look at Kurt, scared.

"Don't worry," Kurt says, "Finn was there too. Your dad had no reason to think we were anything more than friends."

"Yeah," Finn says, "We just explained what happened, and he just sort of glared at us, took you inside, and told us to go home. I thought it was kind of rude. He didn't even thank us."

I say, "My dad's an asshole. Don't worry about it. Thanks for getting me home."

Rachel says, "We were all pretty worried about you. You were really out of it."

"I'm so sorry," I say, "I should not have put you guys through that."

Kurt laughs, "I knew you were full of shit when you said you were fine."

I grimace. "I mean, theoretically, I was fine. But I always have really fucked up reactions to the meds they give me to get me breathing right when I have asthma attacks like that. I should have known it was coming, but I think I was too excited about performing."

Finn laughs. "No harm done," he says, "You sang your song, and we got you home. I think we're all just glad you're okay."

Rachel nods. "I had no idea your asthma was so serious."

Kurt squeezes my arm, sensing that I'm embarrassed. I smile at him and say, "Sometimes it is. I can usually control it pretty well, but yesterday I woke up and it felt like there was an elephant sitting on my chest. Fucking brutal. I wasn't breathing well enough to even use my inhaler properly. My dad took me to the emergency room and they almost had to put me on a respirator. No idea what triggered it. Fucking scary. It took hours for my lungs to open up again."

"Yikes." Finn makes a face. "But you've been hospitalized for it before?"

I can feel myself blushing a little, even though what I'm saying is barely a lie. That might not have happened yesterday, but it did happen.

I say, "A few times, yeah. I dunno. Every year or so."

Kurt squeezes my arm tighter, and I lean over to kiss his cheek gratefully.

Rachel says, "Well, let's just be grateful that the concert went well, and everyone is okay."

I nod. "Yeah. I'm glad."

We get our tickets and go enjoy the movie, and Kurt doesn't bring up yesterday again for the whole weekend.

I pretend it never happened.

I am such a fucking liar.


	40. I have that same smile

Kurt is in Detroit for a week, meeting his extended step-family for Christmas, so I have to face the holidays without my boyfriend, and it scares me how much that bums me out.

I'm getting way to dependent on his hugs.

We don't have any extended family, so Dad and I have a longstanding tradition of spending Christmas on the couch, watching movies and pretending not to wish we had better traditions.

This year, my step-mother, Clara, joins us.

She's nice, I guess. Not too different from my last two step-mothers—young, pretty, quiet, seemingly intelligent, and completely enamoured by Dad's stupid charming smile.

I have that same smile.

Dad gives me an iMac for Christmas. He's never given me a gift more expensive than a CD before. I don't know if he's trying to apologize or if he's trying to bribe me into keeping my mouth shut, but either way, you can practically see the stains of guilt all over it.

I'll probably never take it out of the box.

Clara is very impressed by my father's generosity. I do my best to appear grateful. He watches me carefully, as if waiting for me to say or do something that will make him look bad in front of his fiancé.

"So how did you meet my dad?" I ask Clara over a dinner of take-out Chinese food.

Dad says, "Clara's my optometrist."

Clara nods. "He made an appointment with me about four months ago. His eyes were so intoxicating…." She laughs, squeezing his arm.

Kurt always says my eyes are intoxicating too.

He puts his hand on her arm, and says, "And the rest is history."

I smile and pretend to give a shit.

We eat quietly, and I feel bad for her, because the tension between me and my dad is ridiculously obvious, and she's obviously not a natural conversationalist.

I'm guessing this isn't her best Christmas ever.

After dinner we put on a movie about snowmen or some shit, and Dad falls asleep almost immediately. I think about leaving, but I feel bad for Clara, who clearly wants to make a good impression on her future step-son.

I say, "So you're really gunna marry my dad?"

She grins shyly. "I plan to, yes."

I say, "Okay. Why?"

He's snoring a little bit on the couch next to her.

Raising her eyebrows, Clara says, "I know he and you have a difficult relationship," she says, "But he's a great man, Blaine. I love him."

I would fucking love to know what he's told her about me.

"Well," I say, "He's great at getting women to fall in love with him."

She laughs. "That is true."

I don't say anything.

Clara looks at my dad, checking that he's really sleeping, and then she says, "Look, Blaine, I know your dad and I haven't known each other for very long. You probably think I'm crazy. But what he and I have is special."

I shrug. "I'm sure that's what his last four wives thought."

Her eyes narrow. "_Four_?"

I nod. "He didn't tell you? My mom was his second. He also has a son from his _first_ marriage who is probably older than you are."

Clara grimaces. "Jesus," she says, "That's a little… are you fucking with me?"

I shrug. "Ask him about it," I say. "What did he tell you about me?"

She looks like she wants to either cry or get the fuck out of here, but she says awkwardly, "Uh… not much. He said you'd been fighting lately."

There's a delicate line between gently opening her eyes and deliberately fucking up their relationship, and I think I've just found it.

I stand up abruptly, and say, "Tell my dad I'm going to see my mom. It was nice meeting you."

And I get out of the house as quickly as I can.

Clara's an adult. She's an optometrist. She's clearly an intelligent woman. I hope what I've said is enough to make her realize what a huge mistake it would be to marry Rick Anderson.


	41. Don't let him chase you away

They let me see my mom for the first time in weeks, but they warn me not to get my hopes up.

"She's having a tough month," says the poor nurse stuck working on Christmas, "I don't know if she'll talk to you. Just call if you need me."

She sends me to Mom's room, which is weird, because I've never been to her actual room before. Mom always meets me in the rec room.

There's a bed and a dresser and a small bathroom and a few of her delightfully awful painting hanging on the wall, and I don't know why, but it freaks me out.

I guess I never really pictured her actually _living_ here before.

Mom is sitting on the floor by the window with her legs crossed and her eyes closed. I stand at the door and watch her for a few moments. She's not moving at all, and I wonder for a moment if she is meditating, but then she whispers quietly, "Blaine?"

Her eyes stay closed and her body doesn't move. I step tentatively into the room, and say softly, "Merry Christmas, Mom."

She still doesn't move, but she whispers, "Merry Christmas, baby boy."

I shiver suddenly, even though I'm not cold. I move in closer and sit at the end of her bed. I'm afraid to touch her or speak too loud.

"I love you, Mom," I say.

She starts to nod her head very slowly up and down. "I love you Blaine."

I've never seen her like this before, but I know it's best to sit quietly and wait for something to change.

She keeps nodding. I feel tears welling in my eyes. Her eyes stay closed. She's sitting on the floor facing the other direction, arms folded in her lap as she nods over and over again and I silently wipe tears off of my face.

After thirty-three minutes, Mom says, "I love you too, Blaine."

Her voice is the faintest of whispers.

She stops nodding and turns slowly to face me, opening her eyes very slightly.

I don't know why I feel like she's a scared puppy and if I move she'll scamper away.

"I didn't get you a present," she says, lip trembling.

I slide off the bed and join her on the floor. "It's okay mom, all I wanted was to see you. I miss you."

She starts to cry from some desperate, damaged place inside of herself. Her tiny frame starts to curl inward as she shuffles closer to me, leaning against the bed and resting her head on my shoulder.

I put my arm around her and pull her as close as I can. She presses her face into my chest and cries.

When my mom gets like this, the only thing I can do is hold her and whisper that I love her and hope that she will get better.

My tears get into her hair, but they stop flowing after a few moments. Mom stops crying too, and she just breaths in my presence, clinging to my torso and staying very still.

A nurse comes by after about an hour and sees us sitting there, but I shake my head silently to tell her to leave us be.

Finally, just as I'm starting to fall asleep, Mom says, "Blaine, I want you to promise me that you won't let your dad change you."

Her voice isn't a whisper anymore; it's a strong, full tone which startles me out of my sleepy haze.

I say, "Oh Mom, don't worry about me. I'm not changing."

She says, "Don't let him scare you, and don't let him chase you away. Promise me."

Squeezing her tight, I say, "I promise. I love you, Mom."

"Cooper and I let him get to us," Mom says, "And it destroyed our entire family."

She hasn't mentioned Cooper to me since he left nine years ago. She's never talked like this to me at all. It's scaring me.

Mom says, "You're the strong one, Blaine. Hang in there, okay?"

I have a million questions to ask, but I can feel her retreating back inside of herself, so I hold my tongue. I kiss her on the top of her head, and say, "I'm hanging on tight."

She says, "I need to go to bed now Blaine. Thanks for coming. Enjoy your holidays, okay?"

I nod, and kiss her goodbye.

I never enjoy the holidays.


	42. I can't sleep

Dad isn't home when I get back from visiting Mom, and when I wake up in the morning, he's still gone.

I've always considered myself a people person, but it feels really good to be alone. It's kind of awesome to just chill out and not worry about what the people around me are thinking and doing. I've become way too self-conscious lately.

I play video games. It's nice for about three hours, and then I start thinking too much.

It's not really a secret that I don't like thinking.

Thinking makes me want to punch things.

I go to the basement and practice boxing for most of the day.

By the time I got to bed at night, Dad still isn't home, and I haven't interacted with another person for the entire day.

I lie in bed and don't sleep.

Insomnia is not my friend, but we know each other well.

I can't get what my mom told me yesterday out of my head.

"_Cooper and I let him get to us. And it destroyed our entire family." _

What could she have meant by that? I was only eight years old when Cooper moved out, but I feel like that should be old enough to have known what was going on.

Most of what I remember from my childhood involves violin. Playing, listening, learning, practicing, performing.

When I really think about it, I can't remember very much about how my family interacted with each other when we still all lived together. I can only remember the music.

I remember the first time I played. I remember my first lesson. I remember my first performance. My first conservatory exam. The first composition I wrote myself. I remember pouring over sheet music, practicing day and night, and I remember the intense satisfaction of mastering a really difficult piece of music.

I remember a lot of music. But I don't remember a lot else.

Did my obsession with violin develop because I loved to play, or because I needed an escape from what was really going on around me?

I can't remember.

But then, it's not like I had illusions of our family being perfect.

I remember being aware that Dad was cheating on Mom, but I don't remember ever even wondering if Mom knew about it.

I remember that Cooper and I never got along very well, but I don't really remember what we fought about.

I remember Cooper being the picture of everything a guy like my dad could be proud of, but until now, I never wondered how genuine that picture was.

I knew things weren't perfect, but I can't remember ever have any inkling of anything sinister at all until Cooper left for college, and Mom didn't stop crying for months.

Mom was always emotional. I didn't think much of it until she pulled me into her room one day and whispered in my ear that her and Dad were going to split up and that she was sorry.

I remember Dad explaining to me the next day that Mom was sick, and that she wouldn't be living with us anymore.

I remember the first time I visited her at the facility.

It's not like I've never wondered what happened to my Mom. It's not like I never wondered why Cooper never came back.

But I always thought they were unrelated. I always believed—or forced myself to believe—that this was just how life was. Cooper was an ass who forgot about his family, and Mom was sick. My dad cheating on her didn't help.

Now very suddenly, I can't begin to comprehend how I haven't been more curious. How haven't I tried to find out more?

Am I really so self-absorbed that I really believed I was the only one that Dad ever hurt?

I wonder where Cooper's mom is. I wonder where Cindy and Laura—my former step-mothers—are now.

I wonder what will happen to Clara.

I wonder where my dad is right now.

I need to get out of this house.

I can't sleep.

I get up and I pick up my phone. I call Kurt, but he doesn't answer.

It's three in the morning. He's sleeping.

I can't sleep.

I get out of bed and go on a hunt for evidence. I check Dad's room, but the most interesting thing I find is a box of condoms.

I check the basement, but all I find is a box of Christmas ornaments we haven't bothered putting up for years, and two of my old violins.

They're dusty, and I don't go near them.

I check the attic, but there's nothing but cobwebs and dust.

I'm either a terrible detective, or there's nothing here.

Not a single fucking photograph or momento of my childhood.

It's like he's deliberately erased everything that could remind either of us of the life we used to have.

I wonder why he made me leave Dalton. If I were there, he'd have no reason to remember he had a son at all.

I wonder where he is right now.

I can't sleep.


	43. You held me hostage with that spotlight

I get a text from Thad at Dalton, inviting me to a New Year's Eve party, and I decide to go. Kurt is still in Detroit and my dad is still anywhere but home, and I finally crashed yesterday and slept for twenty-four hours straight, so I'm very ready for some social interaction again. Maybe the Warblers will give me the ego boost that I need right now.

The party is at Thad's house, but I know almost all of the people there from Dalton. I volunteer for karaoke, and let myself have some fun.

After midnight, I find myself sitting in a circle with my friends Trent, Nick, and Thad.

"So be honest," says Nick, "When're you going to transfer back to Dalton?"

I laugh, "I happen to be quite happy at McKinley," I say, "Sorry guys."

Thad says, "And yet you're spending New Years with us. Where's your boy toy?"

"He's visiting family in Detroit," I say, shrugging, "Lucky for you guys."

They all laugh. "Well, I gotta say, it's cool to have a shot at solos for a change," Nick says, "Without you hogging the spotlight."

I roll my eyes. "Oh please," I say, "You guys practically held me hostage with that spotlight. I had to beg you to let me share it."

More laughter. "And you can't pretend that you don't miss it," Thad says.

"I miss it every day," I agree.

Trent says, "But public school's alright?"

"Public school is reality," I say, "So it sucks, but it's also wonderful."

Nick says, "Hey now. Dalton is real. The Hogwarts thing is a myth. We only have three ghosts, and I've never seen a house-elf."

"That's the point," Trent points out, "You're not supposed to _see_ the house elves."

I laugh. "You know what I mean, though."

They all nod. Thad says, "As long as you don't let reality take away the magic that Dalton taught you, we can put up with you fraternizing with muggles for a while longer."

"But if you guys don't win Nationals, we're calling take-backsies on you next year, buddy."

I say, "I'd love to say that's a possibility, but we're definitely winning Nationals."

"Cocky as ever, I see," says Thad, patting me on the back.

I smile. "It's called confidence."

"Oh, that's what they call it in public school, is it?"

I nod. "I know," I say, "It's a whole new vocabulary and everything. But I'm learning."

They laugh again. We return to karaoke until we all get tired and I drive home.

No drama. No tears. Just moderately witty banter and half-teasing flattery. That's what Dalton's about, and it makes you feel good, but it doesn't make you feel much else.

I can't wait for classes at McKinley to start up again. I miss my friends.


	44. His lips taste like Christmas

"I missed you so much." Kurt throws his arms around me and presses his forehead into mine, kissing me.

His lips still taste like Christmas, and his joyful enthusiasm at our reunion is infectious. I pull his body closer to mine and we both fall onto his bed, giggling a little and not even bothering to close the door before we start pulling each others' clothes off.

As our bodies entwine, I feel his confidence and his intelligence and his determination, and I feel safe. I know that Kurt is older than me, but until this moment, I've never really felt like the younger one.

Today I feel young. And I know very suddenly that I can trust Kurt with anything.

"I had a shitty Christmas," I tell Kurt later, when we're at Breadstix eating pasta, "I really missed you."

His eyebrows pinch together in concern, and he says, "I'm sorry, Blaine. I missed you too. And I couldn't relax at all for the whole vacation, because I'm so stressed out about exams and stuff."

If Kurt doesn't get straight A's in all of his classes his semester, he doesn't stand a chance of getting into his college of choice, NYADA.

I say, "I bet."

He nods, frowning at me a little. "So what made your Christmas shitty?" he asks.

I say, "It was just lonely. My mom's not doing well, and my dad has been off with his fiancé somewhere all week."

"Your dad has a fiancé?" His jaw drops. "Why didn't you _tell_ me this?"

I blink. "I didn't mention it? Sorry. It'll be his fifth marriage, so honestly I can't make myself care."

"Holy shit. Your dad is seriously fucked up, isn't he?"

Now is my chance to tell Kurt everything, but I'm still thinking about his comment about exams. Kurt is graduating this year. He's going to leave Ohio forever. Now is not the time to worry him about things he can do nothing about. I need to make the most of my time left with Kurt, drama-free.

I'm such a chicken.

I say, "Dad's an alpha-male asshole. But I probably exaggerate how bad he is."

Kurt looks at me with wide, searching eyes, and I look away. It's like he can feel the things I'm not saying.

"Did you get to see your mom, at least?" Kurt asks, squeezing my hand.

I nod. "Yeah. We had an interesting talk. She's just in a rough patch right now. It happens. It breaks my heart, though."

Give him something to distract him from whatever suspicions I see in his eyes about my dad.

"I'm so sorry, Blaine. I can see how hard it is on you. I know how close you are to her."

I nod, squeezing his hand back. "It's tough, but there's not much I can do except be here for her if she needs me. My mom's tough. She'll pull through."

Kurt nods, smiling encouragingly. "From what I saw when I met her, I'm sure you're right."

I say, "Yeah. Thanks."

He starts nattering about his NYADA application and his exams and New York, and I lean back and listen and answer him.

Maybe I'm not brave enough to tell Kurt the whole truth about my dad, but he knows more about my family and my soul than anyone in the world, and I'm going to hold on to that for as long as possible. I love him so much it's a little bit scary. He makes me feel safe, loved, and sure of myself, and it's wonderful.


	45. Stupid, pointless small talk

After most of January has passed and Dad still hasn't come home, I start to get complacent. And then Cooper calls me.

"I'm in Lima," he says, "And I want to take you out for lunch."

I'm sitting on the steps in the courtyard with Tina and Artie before school starts, and they both look at me questioningly when my jaw drops and I stare at my phone in shock.

"Everything alright?" Tina asks, raising an eyebrow.

I blink, nod, and stand up, waving at my friends to indicate that I'll be right back. I walk a few steps out of earshot of anyone else, and ask Cooper, "Are you kidding me? You're in town?"

He says, "For a few days, yeah. Can I pick you up at school for lunch?"

My throat and mouth have gone so dry that it's difficult to speak. I say hesitantly, "Yeah. Sure."

"You still at Bellville?"

"No. McKinley."

There's a brief silence, and then Cooper says. "McKinley? Okay. Pick you up at 12:00?"

"Okay."

He hangs up and the bell rings to signal that classes are starting. I join Tina and Artie as they make their way through the crowd and into the school. My hands are shaking like crazy.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asks me three hours later, as we meet at our lockers at our lunch break. "You seem a little… preoccupied."

I check my watch. Cooper could be here any second. "Yeah well, my brother's in town," I say, "He's gunna take me out to lunch."

Kurt looks thrilled. "That's awesome!" he says, "I've been dying to meet this mysterious brother of yours!" He opens his locker and adds another layer of hairspray to his already perfect hair.

I shrug. "Yeah, well, he should be here any minute."

"How long as it been since you saw him?" Kurt asks.

"Like ten years," I reply, rolling my eyes.

And at that moment, Kurt's eyes widen at something he sees behind him. His jaw drops.

I turn around and I see my brother. He looks a lot more like my dad than I remember. Tall, blue-eyed, and incredibly handsome.

Like, _ridiculously_ handsome.

"Blaine?" Cooper seems a little uncertain whether or not it's actually me.

I nod and step forward for a hug, determined to make this reunion seem natural and lighthearted. "Hey Cooper. Good to see you."

He hugs me back, playing along as though we're not complete strangers. He looks up at Kurt. "Is this your boyfriend?"

I look at Kurt, who is still staring at Cooper with his mouth hanging open. I say, "Yeah, this is Kurt. Kurt, this is my brother, Cooper."

Kurt reaches out to shake Cooper's hand. "Oh my god," he says, "I've seen you on TV. You're the guy from the Free Credit Rating dot com commercial, aren't you?"

I remember Cooper mentioning a commercial when he called me months ago, but I've never seen it.

Cooper looks delighted that Kurt recognises him. He's even more handsome when he smiles. "I am, yeah! Wow, you really recognised me?"

Kurt swallows, blushing a little, "I thought you looked like my boyfriend," he says, grinning shyly and glancing at me, "Now I know why, I guess."

Jesus. He's star struck, and it's adorable.

I take Kurt's hand and kiss him quickly.

"Well aren't you two adorable," he says, watching the two of us with a slightly more uncomfortable but just as handsome smile.

Kurt blushes even deeper, and I start to feel uncomfortable too. I say, "I'll see you later, okay, Kurt?"

And Cooper and I walk out of the school together.

He takes me to Breadstix and we both order the same kind of soup without consulting with each other.

We kind of stare awkwardly at each other for a few drawn out moments, and then I ask, "What're you doing in Lima?"

He says, "Well, I have a couple of weeks off from my commercial gig, so I thought I'd come visit. I know it's been too long."

I raise my eyebrows and say, "I'll say."

As though he doesn't acknowledge my resentment, Cooper laughs, "Time's a crazy thing. I couldn't believe it when I realized it'd been nine years."

I say, "Crazy."

He changes the subject. "So why aren't you at Bellville anymore? I loved that school."

I grimace. "Uh. It… well." I don't even know how to have this conversation with this guy sitting across me who looks so much like my dad it gives me butterflies.

I say, "McKinley's a little less hostile toward gay people."

Blunt and to the point.

Cooper groans. He says, "Oh. Dude, don't even worry. You come to LA, and nobody will give a shit who you love."

"So it doesn't bother you?"

He shakes his head. "Are you kidding me? I think it's awesome. Kurt's adorable. Good for you."

I feel suddenly a lot warmer towards Cooper. I say, "You can't mention him to Dad."

Cooper's face goes cold, and he says, "Not a problem."

I get the very strong feeling that he has no intention of visiting Dad. Which is fine, because I don't know where the fuck he is anyway.

I want Cooper to ask about Dad, but he changes the subject abruptly. He asks, "So you said you're not doing the violin thing anymore? Bro, that's crazy. I can't remember ever seeing you without a fiddle in your hands when we were kids."

"I can't play anymore," I say, adding, "Hand injury."

I hold out my hand to show him how half of my fingers stay curled in permanent uselessness.

Cooper's eyebrows go up in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? What happened?"

I say, "Some assholes at Bellville beat the shit out of me for being gay."

His eyes narrow and his mouth pinches. "Fuck," he says, "I'm so sorry, bro."

I shrug.

He quickly changes the subject again. "But you said that you're singing now?"

"I do the glee club thing," I say, nodding, "Show choir, you know."

Cooper grins. "Awesome. Seriously, that's awesome. I should see if I can come give your class some advice. I did my degree in musical theatre, you know."

I raise my eyebrows. "Really? Music theatre."

He nods. "Yep. Will you see if I can come in?"

I shrug. "I'll talk to Mr. Schue about it. You really did a degree in Musical theatre? Is that why you never came back? Dad must have disowned you."

Cooper's grin fades, and he says, "We don't need to talk about that. It was a long time ago."

Why is he here if he doesn't want to talk about why he was gone?

We make stupid, pointless small talk for the rest of our meal, and he changes the subject whenever it gets remotely serious.

He drives me back to school after lunch and goes to talk to Mr. Schuester personally. I go to my afternoon classes and don't learn a thing because I'm so confused and angry at my brother.

What the fuck is he doing here?


	46. He looks like my dad and acts like me

When I get to glee practice, my brother is standing in the middle of the room, and he's surrounded by my friends. The girls look like they're just willing themselves not to squeal and kiss him, and the guys are obviously trying to impress him so that their girlfriends will be proud.

I can't even blame him for the fact that he obviously loves the attention. Attention whoring clearly runs in the family.

"Blaine!" Cooper grabs my arm and pulls me into the group. "You guys know my brother, right?"

Everyone turns to stare at me for a moment, and I grin. "Hey Cooper."

"You're Blaine's _brother_?" Tina squeals, "That's so cool!"

Mike says, "You can't be his brother. Blaine's Asian, and you're definitely not."

Artie says, "What? Blaine's not Asian!"

Tina says, "No, he's definitely got some Asian blood."

I laugh. "Cooper's my half-brother," I say, "We have different mothers."

Cooper nods. "Blaine's mom's Filipino. Good call, Mike."

Mike looks thrilled that Cooper already knows his name. I can't help but roll my eyes. Kurt sees it, and he laughs, kissing me on the cheek.

Mr. Schue says, "Okay, okay. Everyone take a seat. I see you've all met Blaine's brother, Cooper Anderson!"

Everyone claps. Schue says, "A lot of you probably recognize him from the commercials he's done, but what you might not know is that Cooper has a degree in Musical Theatre from NYU! Since I know that a lot of you want to go down that road when you graduate, I thought it would be cool to hear from Cooper about his experience. He's here to give you all some advice and answer your questions!"

Everyone claps again, and Cooper beams. He steps forward and bows laughingly. "Hey guys," he says, "I'm Cooper."

He proceeds to spend the next hour giving advice about going to college, getting an agent, auditioning, and making a living as an actor. He's a phenomenal performer; he manages to be convincing and charming the whole time.

I can tell when he's bullshitting, because I bullshit in the exact same way. Most of what he says is lies to make them admire him and give them hope for their own future.

I don't know if that annoys me or amuses me.

I do realize that he looks exactly like my dad, and acts exactly like me.

He hangs around to watch our rehearsal afterwards, and when it's over he follows me out of the school. "You're pretty good, little brother," he says, "I'm very impressed."

I smile. "Thanks, Cooper."

He says, "But you're a little pitchy sometimes. You've got to work on your air support."

I shrug. "Okay."

"Anyway," he says, "I'm flying back to LA tonight. It was good catching up with you Blaine. Let's stay in touch, alright?"

I stop walking. "Are you kidding me?" I ask, "You're already leaving?"

Cooper nods, avoiding eye contact. "I've got an audition tomorrow," he says, "But I'll call you sometime. You should come to LA for the summer. Maybe do senior year in California. It'd be cool."

Unbelievable. I say, "Why the fuck did you even bother coming here, Cooper"

He looks taken aback. "Excuse me?" he asks, "I'm here to see you, Blaine."

I roll my eye, angry. "For half a day? Come on, Cooper."

Cooper says, "I have my own life, Blaine. We'll see each other again soon, I promise."

I shake my head. "Cooper, are you kidding me? Do you have any idea what my life has been like since you left? Do you have any idea how many questions I have?"

He turns away. "I can't help you, Blaine. I've got a place to catch. I'm sorry."

I grab his arm. "No. We are strangers. You wouldn't have flown all the way to Ohio just for one pointless conversation and to show off to my friends without a reason."

Looking hurt, Cooper says, "I'm sorry if you find catching up with your big brother pointless, Blaine."

I say, "Don't pretend you don't know what I mean. Any time we got close to addressing anything real, you change the subject."

"I don't know what you want me to say, Blaine. I think you already know what I have to tell you. I know Dad's an asshole, and I know he's probably making your life hell. is that what you want to hear?"

I scowl. "He hits me, Cooper," I say.

Cooper nods, giving me a look like his heart is breaking. "I know, Blaine. He used to hit me too. Do you really think I know how to deal with it? I ran away. That's how I dealt with it. If you need a change, come to California with me."

I say, "I can't go to California with you. My whole life is here."

Cooper says, "Exactly. Which is why me coming here was a mistake. Me being here will only make things worse for you. I'm sorry. You have to figure this out for yourself. I have to go."

And he gets in his car and drives away. I watch him so much anger in my blood that I think my veins are going to explode.

He's just as cowardly as I am.

Fuck him.


	47. Because people know who I love

A cheerleader named Katia uploads a video of Brittany and Santana making out under the bleachers to her facebook page this morning, and by noon, the whole school has seen it.

"Can you believe this?" Kurt asks me, "After all the crap Santana gives _us_?"

I haven't seen Santana yet all day, but I'm sure she's freaking out.

I say, "Santana gives us crap because she gives everyone crap. But she's always stuck up for us when it mattered."

Kurt nods thoughtfully. "You're right," he says. He looks at his phone, where he has the video and all of its comments on the screen. "Jesus," he says, "Nobody deserves to be outed like this. Those poor girls."

I say, "Brittany will be happy the secret's out, but Santana is going to be devastated."

His eyes narrow and he hits me lightly. "You _knew_ about this, didn't you?"

I grin apologetically and say, "Yeah. I've known since… at least October. Santana swore me to secrecy."

He looks scandalized. "I can't believe you didn't tell me. I can't believe she told _you_."

"She didn't tell me," I say, "I just figured it out. And it took her weeks to trust me again afterward. If I'd have told you, there's no way she wouldn't have figured out you knew."

Kurt nods, eyes softening. "And then she'd never trust you again."

"And Santana really needed someone to trust and talk to," I agree.

I can tell that Kurt's mind is going a mile a minute trying to wrap itself around this bombshell. He says, "So you've talked to her about it?"

"A bit, yeah," I say, "And Brittany too. Britt doesn't get what the big deal is, but Santana is terrified of being an outcast."

"Understandably," Kurt says, sighing. He gives me an adorably adoring look, and says, "You're amazing, you know that, Blaine?"

I shrug. "Of course I am," I say teasingly.

"No, I'm serious," Kurt says, "You have no idea how much you've helped me come to terms with being gay. And the fact that you're helping Britt and Santana too, without anyone knowing… we're lucky to know you, Blaine."

I feel like he's getting a distorted picture of how much I've really done for Britt and Santana. I say, "I don't think you give yourself enough credit for how much you've helped _me_."

We kiss, and brace ourselves for the inevitable locker slam. We get a good fifteen-second make-out session before a football player walks by and pushes us disgustedly against the hard metal.

He walks away, and Kurt and I just giggle.

"What's so funny?" Kurt and I look up and see Brittany standing before us. She's obviously been crying.

We stop laughing immediately, and Kurt says, "Nothing." He steps forward to hug Brittany. She hugs him back. I hug her too. She says, "Can you two come talk to Santana for me? She's freaking out and I don't know what to do."

Kurt and I nod without a second thought and follow Brittany to the bottom of a forgotten staircase down the mechanics hallway. Santana is curled up in the corner, crying.

She looks up, sees Kurt and I, and immediately tries to hide her tears.

We sit down across from her and Kurt asks, "How're you doing, Santana?"

She looks at him through her reddened, swollen eyes, and says, "How do you _think_ I'm doing, Kurt?"

He and I squeeze each other's hands, and Kurt says, "I can't even imagine. Do your parents know?"

She bows her head and starts sobbing. Brittany pulls her close and strokes her hair. "Shhh," Brittany whispers, "It's okay baby. It's okay."

Santana whispers, "My dad called me and told me not to come home tonight. Mom called and basically said the same. Neither of my brothers will return my calls."

This girl is usually so fierce, so confident, and so sure of herself that I never realized how tiny she is. Curled up on the floor, sobbing into her girlfriend's chest, she looks so fragile that it scares me.

Kurt says, "I'm so sorry, Santana. Do you have a place to stay?"

She shakes her head, crying to hard to speak. Brittany says, "My parents told me that Santana and I can't have sleepovers anymore."

I say, "You can stay at my house, Santana. Don't worry."

Kurt frowns, catching my eye. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" he asks.

"My dad's been living at his fiancé's place for weeks," I remind Kurt, even though I have no idea if that's really where Dad is, "And if he does come home, he'll just be glad to see me spending time with girls."

Santana actually smiles a little, and Brittany rubs her shoulders. She says, "Thanks Blaine. I really appreciate it."

Kurt asks, "Do you think your parents will come around?"

Shrugging, Santana says, "I have no idea. I'd hoped we'd never have to have this conversation. I was just going to let them believe I was a single woman for the rest of my life."

She wipes tears from her eyes and whimpers a little, trying not to sob anymore.

I say, "Give them a while to process. My mom took months to get used to it, but she couldn't be more supportive now."

Santana says, "But your dad still doesn't like it, huh?"

"Blaine's dad is a special breed of asshole," Kurt says, "I'm sure your family will come around."

Brittany says, "I love you, Santana. That's all that matters, okay?"

Santana shakes her head. "The whole town knows, Brittany. The whole school knows. I only had four months left before I could just get out of here and be as gay as I wanted in a place where people wouldn't care. And now I have to deal with this."

Kurt says, "Nobody's gunna fuck with you, Santana. They fear you. They _worship_ you. You're the head cheerleader. If you let them know that you're ashamed, you only give them power."

I kiss his cheek and agree.

"Easier said than done," Santana says, but she looks a little encouraged.

I say, "We're all here for you, Santana. And you Britt. Coming out is hard enough when it's your own choice. What you have to go through isn't fair. If you want us to kick Katia's ass, we will."

Santana shakes her head, her lip curling. "No," she says, "I'll take care of that myself, thank you very much."

"That's the spirit," Brittany says, smiling.

Kurt stands up and says, "Come on, Santana. It's time for glee. Are you ready for that?"

She takes a deep breath, pulls her hair out of her eyes, wipes the tears off of her face, and stands up. All four of us join together in a group hug. Santana says, "I'm Santana Lopez. People fear me. That doesn't change just because people know who I love. You three are officially in charge of making sure I don't forget."

We all hold hands and walk to the choir room together.

The whole glee club claps when we walk through the door.


	48. My tongue forgets how to be a tongue

Santana bounces back quickly. People at school stare and whisper, but if anything, they're nicer to her than usual, because they're all terrified that she'll snap and ruin their lives if they do anything that might indicate that they have a problem with her lesbian relationship.

Brittany thrives on the spiteful public displays of affection Santana now insists upon.

But her parents won't return her calls, so she continues to sleep in the guest room of our house, and I hear her crying at night sometimes.

In a weird sort of way, it's encouraging that I'm not the only one whose parents can't accept them for who they are. And I'm probably an awful person for even thinking that thought.

It's Rachel's birthday today, and Mercedes brings her vegan cupcakes, which we all indulge in before glee rehearsal starts. Rachel is very triumphant about turning 18.

"This is going to be a great year for me," she says, "I'm an adult now. I'm going to get out of Lima and become a star."

She believes in herself so resolutely that I don't think it's possible for the world to let down.

Mr. Schue lets Rachel bask in birthday attention for the first part of rehearsal by rehearsing choreography for her Celine Dion solo. Her voice is stunning, and I don't think I'm the only one who gets distracted from dancing just by watching her.

We move on to practicing Smoke Signals' Black Holes today, which is my own solo, and my voice is shaky when I come in for the first time, probably because I'm so intimidated by Rachel's ever-improving magnificence.

I cough and find my center in the notes, but something just doesn't feel right with my singing today. I keep choking on my words.

"Sorry!" I say, when Mr. Schue cuts us off because I miss two notes. I clear my throat. "I can do way better."

He says, "Do you need a drink of water, Blaine? Your voice sounds a little strained today."

I shake my head, and say, "Sorry. I'm just nervous because I have to follow Rachel. Can we start over?"

Everyone is watching me, and it's making me dizzy. I normally like attention and don't mind people watching me, but today it just makes my skin crawl. My tongue feels heavy.

Mr. Schue counts us in again, but my voice is startlingly hoarse, and then I gag on my own words and have to stop singing. My head is suddenly spinning, and I feel suddenly like I might vomit.

"Blaine, you look really flushed," Kurt says, "Are you feeling alright?"

I blink. My heart is suddenly beating like crazy.

I take a deep, shaky breath, and say, "I'm fine. Sorry." My words sound almost slurred, like my tongue doesn't want to cooperate with my brain.

Mr. Schue asks, "Blaine, is your asthma bothering you? You look like you're having trouble breathing."

As soon as he says it, I realize that I am straining for air, but my lungs feel fine. Damn. I think I'm having a panic attack. But there is no reason for it. Everything is fine.

I shake my head. "I just feel really dizzy all of a sudden. I don't know what's going on."

Kurt feels my forehead and says, "He's really hot."

"Do you want me to get the nurse?" Mr. Schue asks.

I feel mortified. "I'm sure it's nothing," I try to say, but my words aren't working. It's like my tongue has forgotten how to be a tongue. What the fuck is happening to me? My skin is crawling like it's on fire.

"Oh my god," says Finn suddenly, staring at me, "I know what's going on. Mercedes, did those cupcakes have nuts in them?"

Fucking hell.

Mercedes' eyes widen. "Walnuts," she says, looking at me with a stunned sort of look on her face. "They had walnuts."

My heartrate seems to double just hearing the words. Finn says, "You said you were allergic to nuts, didn't you, Blaine? That night when you had dinner at our house?"

All I can do is nod. I haven't had a reaction to nuts since I was a little kid. Part of me kind of thought that I'd outgrown the allergy. But my throat is swelling shut, my tongue is twice it's normal size, I'm breaking out in hives, and I am so lightheaded that I can barely see straight.

Mr. Schue is at my side immediately. "Do you have an EpiPen, Blaine?"

I shake my head. I haven't carried one in years.

"Shit," Mr. Schue says, "Your lips are swelling up. I'm going to take you to the hospital. Can you walk?"

I nod, standing up and not even arguing about the hospital. As soon as I'm on my feet, I feel the floor shift beneath me, and then everything goes black.


	49. I can't make eye contact

For the second time in less than three months, I wake up in a hospital bed, but this time it's Mr. Schue standing over me, which is a lot more comforting than who it was last time.

"Blaine? Are you awake?"

I nod. I can tell immediately that I've had an adrenaline shot. My skin is crawling and my head is pounding and my heart is racing like I've just run a marathon, but my throat isn't swollen closed anymore, and I'm nowhere near as dizzy.

"Oh my god," I mutter, "What happened?"

He says, "You had an allergic reaction and you lost consciousness. But you're gunna be okay, Blaine. I need to call your parents. Can you give me their phone number?"

I groan. "My dad's out of town on a business trip," I lie, "I don't have a number for him."

"Well what about your mom?"

What about her? I say, "I don't have a mom."

Blatant lies, but I can't even dream of explaining the truth right now. I feel like hell.

Mr. Schuester looks seriously stressed out. "There's really nobody I can call?"

"Call Kurt," I say.

Mr. Schuester says, "I have. He and Finn are on their way now."

I'm a little annoyed that Finn is coming, but then I remember that if he hadn't realized what was happening, I could be dead by now. I nod. "That's good."

"Blaine, you really scared us," Mr. Schue says, "Have you ever had a reaction like that before?"

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to relax my racing heart. "When I was a lot younger, yeah," I say, "But it's been so long that I didn't even realize what was happening until Finn figured it out."

"You're lucky," Mr. Schue says, "If there hadn't been an EpiPen in the first aid kit, I don't want to think about what would have happened."

I grimace, imaging what the rest of the choir must have thought, watching me pass out like that. "I am so sorry," I say.

"Don't apologize," he says, "I'm just glad you're alright."

A nurse stops at my bed, and says, "I need to check your vitals, Blaine. How're you feeling?"

I shrug. I recognise her from last time I was in the hospital, and I hope that she doesn't recognise me.

She measures my blood pressure, and says, "You're not having such a good few months, are you, hon? First the concussion, and now this?"

I grimace, and say, "Not the best, no."

"When did you have a concussion?" Mr. Schue asks, frowning in concern.

She says, "When was it? Just before Christmas, wasn't it, Blaine?"

I blush deeply and nod.

The nurse finishes taking my vitals, and says, "We'll have to keep you here for observation for a few hours to make sure you don't have another reaction, but it looks like you're just fine."

She leaves, and Mr. Schuester asks, "How come you didn't tell us you had a concussion?"

Finn and Kurt show us just as he asks it, and Kurt frowns deeply. "Concussion?" he asks, "What are you talking about, Mr. Schue?"

Mr. Schue says, "The nurse just told me that Blaine was here just before Christmas with a concussion."

I feel like puking now; there's no way to back out of this lie. Finn stares at me, and Kurt asks, "What? You didn't have a concussion—what?"

He looks confused, but I can practically feel him figuring it out in his head. He stops talking. Fuck fuck fuck.

"He was here because of an _asthma attack_ just before our Christmas concert," Finn says, "Maybe that's what she meant."

Mr. Schue says, "No, the nurse definitely said it was a concussion, didn't she, Blaine?"

I shrug, locking eyes with Kurt, who instinctively changes the subject. "That doesn't matter," he says, "Blaine, how are you feeling right now? I've been so scared."

"I'm going to be fine," I say quickly, grateful, "They just have to watch me for a while to make sure I don't have a secondary reaction or something."

There's a brief silence while they all stare awkwardly at me, and then Finn says, "Seriously, Blaine, did you lie about the asthma attack? Did you actually perform at the concert with a concussion? Is that why you got so messed up?"

Kurt is frowning deeply, studying my face, and Mr. Schue just looks confused. Finn looks angry.

I stutter for a moment trying to figure out what lie to tell, and then I say, unconvincingly, "I think that the nurse just got confused. She obviously sees a lot of patients."

Kurt is looking at me as though he's seeing me for the first time, and it scares the crap out of me.

"I should call Mercedes," I say, "I want to make sure she knows this wasn't her fault. She looked so scared in the choir room."

Finn nods. "Good idea. We should call everyone and let them know you're alright."

They don't ask me any more questions about the concussion, but I can't make eye contact with any of them for the rest of the day.


	50. Why doesn't he just ask me?

Kurt drives me home from the hospital, and I wait for him to ask me about the concussion.

"You have to promise me that you'll never go anywhere without an EpiPen again," he says, "I never want to feel scared like that again."

Sheepishly, I say, "Not to worry. I never want to make an idiot of myself like that again. I'll never put a thing in my mouth without asking what's in it again."

Grinning, Kurt says, "Nobody thinks you were an idiot. You're charming even when you're going into anaphylactic shock. Beautiful even when you're unconscious. It's a gift, Blaine, embrace it."

I laugh. There's a silence and I wait for him to ask about the concussion.

"I can't believe Finn remembered that you were allergic to nuts," Kurt says, "I thought you were having a stroke or something."

Shrugging, I say, "Lucky he did, because I thought it was a panic attack. It didn't even occur to me that it was an allergic reaction until Finn said something."

"He's a lot smarter than people give him credit for," Kurt says, "He probably saved your life."

I nod. "No shit."

We fall silent again, and I wait for him to ask about the concussion.

"Do you think you'll be feeling well enough to come to the movies with us tomorrow afternoon?" Kurt asks, "Double date with Finchel?"

I laugh at the nickname for Finn and Rachel, and say, "Yeah, definitely. I'll be there."

"Awesome."

I wait for him to ask about the concussion.

"We should go shopping after the movie," Kurt says, "You're starting to get some amazing definition in your arms from all of your boxing, and I think we need to get you some shirts to highlight that."

I frown. He's really doing everything he can to avoid the topic of the blatant lie I just got caught in. "Sure," I say distractedly, "Shopping sounds good."

He definitely senses my mood, and as he drives, he watches me closely.

I'm not going to bring the topic up in case I'm crazy, but I'm positive that Kurt has guessed why I lied about the concussion. He's seen my other bruises, and he knows that me and Dad don't get along. What possible reason would I have for lying about a concussion except to protect the person who gave it to me? He definitely knows.

But I'm not going to say a word in case I'm wrong.

Why doesn't he just ask me?

"Rachel's probably pissed that you ruined her birthday," Kurt says, laughing suddenly, "I hope she's not pissed at Finn for leaving her side to come to the hospital."

I smile, but I don't really think it's funny. "Yeah," I say, "I should make sure to bring her an extra special birthday present tomorrow."

Kurt nods. "That seems wise."

Why doesn't he just ask me?

"Is Santana (still staying at your place?"

I nod.

Why doesn't he just ask me?

"Do you want to have a Community marathon tonight?"

I nod.

Why doesn't he just ask me?

"I think Puck and Quinn might have a secret thing going on again."

Why doesn't he just ask me?


	51. Put the walls back up

It's Sunday afternoon, and I'm doing homework when Santana appears at my bedroom door. "Hey Blaine," she says, "Can I come in?"

I look up in surprise. Santana usually comes home late at night and leaves early in the morning. "What're you doing home?" I ask.

She says, "Getting my stuff. I'm going back to my parents' house tonight."

I wish I could say that my smile is genuine. "That's great, Santana. I knew they'd come around."

Nodding, Santana says, "They took me out for lunch today."

"I'm glad. Everything is okay now?

She shrugs. "It's more than okay. They apologized and then we ended up talking all afternoon. I'd never had an honest conversation with them like that before." She smiles in an uncharacteristically sentimental sort of way. "It was cool."

I stand up to give her a hug. "You're lucky," I say, "And I'm happy for you."

She nods and hugs me tight. Then she takes a step back, puts her hands on my shoulders, and says, "Blaine… I'm sorry."

Surprised, I say, "Sorry? What did you do this time?"

She shakes her head. "I mean, I'm sorry that I'm the lucky one. You act like you've got it figured out and that your sexuality isn't important, but I can tell how much it breaks your heart that your dad can't accept it."

I say, "No offense, Santana, but that's really none of your business."

Put the walls back up, Blaine, put the walls back fucking up.

"Only because you won't talk about it. But Blaine, it _isn't_ okay that your dad just leaves you here in this house all by yourself. You know that, right?"

I shrug. "It's fine, Santana," I say, scowling.

"No," she says, "It's not. And if you think that the people close to you—Kurt, Finn, me, Rachel—if you think that we can't see how much you're struggling, you're crazy."

Usually I would be really angry if someone talked to me like this, but somehow because it's Santana, I just want to cry. I don't say anything.

Santana says, "Kurt says that you can't talk about your dad even in passing without looking furious or terrified. And now he's just abandoned you? You don't know where he is, do you?"

I say, "Dad might not be here, but he's obviously still paying the bills. It's not like he just left me high and dry. I'm perfectly capably of taking care of myself. Don't make a big deal out this, Santana."

"Blaine, I'm sorry," she says, "But maybe it _is_ a big deal. Just talk to someone about it, okay? It doesn't have to be me. But talk to someone."

She leaves the house, and I sit in my room staring at the wall feeling numb.

It feels nice to know that Santana cares, and that scares me for reasons I can't quite pin down.

Why is Kurt talking to Santana about this instead of just talking to me?

Why does everyone have to start getting suspicious right when Dad has disappeared and I finally feel safe again?

All I want to do is love Kurt, love music, and forget about the things I can't change.

But it does feel nice to know that people care.


	52. Jarring, electric pain

I used to see a physical therapist every other day in an attempt to improve the function of my hands, and she was always furious with me for boxing. She said that I was going to reinjure myself and set my recovery back months. When it became clear that no amount of physical therapy was going to help, she cancelled my appointments and I stopped feeling guilty about punching things.

Today I'm practicing my right hook when intense pain suddenly starts at my knuckles and shoots all the way up my arm.

"Ow!" I step back as if the punching bag punched me back, pushing my right hand into my chest with my left as it seizes up completely and agonizingly. "Fuck!"

"You alright?"

Finn is the only other guy in the gym, and he looks up from lifting weights with a questioning look.

I pull off my boxing gloves, saying, "Fuck, yeah. I just… ow." My whole hand feels like pins and needles.

He sets down his weight. "Punch too hard?" he asks with a knowing smirk.

I nod, massaging my hand. "Fuck, that hurts."

I sit down on the bench and towel sweat off of my face.

Finn comes and sits down across from me. "Whose face were you picturing this time?" he asks.

I roll my eyes. "Nobody," I say. I know where he's going to go with this, and I'm not at all in the mood. Even my good fingers are cramping and pinching, and I want to scream because it hurts so bad.

He says, "You're in here every day at that punching bag, Blaine. Who're you so angry at?"

"Boxing doesn't have to be about anger, Finn," I say, "What are you getting at?"

I know what he's getting at, but I want him to say it out loud.

Finn doesn't even try to sugar coat it. "You lied to us about why you were in the hospital at Christmas, Blaine. You didn't want us to know you had a concussion."

I shrug.

"How did you get the concussion, Blaine? Why lie?"

I shrug again.

Finn says, "I think I know."

"And what is it that you think you know, Finn?" I say, staring up at him with meaningful challenge on my face.

He frowns. "I think you lied because you didn't want us to know who hit you."

I cross my arms.

"You put on a good show, acting like you're the ultimate out and proud gay dude who won't let anyone push you around," Finn says, "But when the last person on earth who should be hurting you is hurting you, you're too afraid to say anything about it."

Ouch. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Finn," I say.

He shakes his head. "It's okay, Blaine, I get it. I don't think I'd do anything differently if I were you. But you have to stop lying, Blaine. Your dad gave you that concussion, didn't he?"

Finally, he says it out loud. I say, "Finn, you have no idea what you're talking about."

Why is everyone except Kurt confronting me about this? It's supposed to be my boyfriend. Not my boyfriend's step-brother.

He says, "No, except that I kind of do, Blaine. I've been through this before. I watched my best friend practically let his dad kill him before anyone clued in enough to get him some help. And I've _talked_ to him about you. Puck. He says he approached you months ago about the same thing. So if both of us reached the same conclusion from different evidence… I mean, Blaine, there's got to be a reason for that."

I stand up. "Don't do this," I say, "I don't need or want your help. You don't know the first thing about my family or about me. I'm not some injured puppy that you need to help!"

"But I want, to help, Blaine. I can't just let you get hurt."

"I can take care of myself," I retort, throwing my boxing gloves into my locker, "Just stay out of it."

But I don't deny anything. I storm out of the gym, and Finn doesn't try to stop me.

My fucking hand won't stop tremoring with jarring, electric pain.


	53. Mature, confident, intelligent young man

If Kurt could just look me in the eye, I think I'm ready to talk to him about my dad for real. But he won't look me in the eye, and it infuriates me.

I've told Kurt straight up that my dad is an asshole and that he makes me feel like crap about who I am. So Kurt has known for months that I'm at the very least being emotionally abused. He's known for weeks that I'm being neglected—that Dad doesn't come home.

And there is no way that he didn't figure out about the physical abuse that day in the hospital, if not before that. There's no way that Finn or Puck or Santana haven't talked to him about it.

What kind of a boyfriend knows that his boyfriend is being abused, but does nothing and says nothing?

I thought that Kurt was the love of my life, but now I'm not so sure.

I visit my mother today, and she's having one of the best days she's had for months. We talk about school and glee and Kurt, and then I drive home, feeling happier than I have in quite some time.

When I walk into my house, Kurt, Finn, Santana, and Puck are all sitting in my living room.

I stop dead in my tracks when I see them. They're just sitting there on the couch, watching me.

"What the fuck?"

Kurt points to the armchair and says, "Sit down, Blaine."

Is this a fucking intervention? I can already feel tears pooling in my eyes as a lump rises in the back of my throat.

I sit down. "What is going on? How did you guys get into my house?"

Santana says, "Blaine shut up. You know why we're here."

Puck gives her a look as if to say _be nice_.

I wipe the tears off of my face and try to make eye contact with Kurt. He won't look at me.

Finn says, "Blaine, we're here because we're all really worried about you."

I shake my head, humiliated by the fact that my emotions are overwhelming me. I don't know what to say.

Puck says, "We could go to our parents or to Mr. Schue or Ms. Pillsbury, but we want to give you the chance to make that decision for yourself."

I stare at the floor, shaking and trying not to start sobbing outright.

Finn says, "You need to be honest with us, Blaine, because we care about you, and we don't want to see anything bad happen to you. So we're going to ask you one more time: Blaine, does your dad hit you?"

The words hang heavy in the air, and a surge of adrenaline helps me collect my feelings. I look up. Kurt is finally looking at me. His eyes pierce into mine and I feel so betrayed that I almost get up and walk away. But then I see all of the other eyes. They just want to help me.

I nod.

They all let out visible sighs of relief, and Kurt gets off the couch and comes over to hug me. I push him away. "Don't," I say coldly, "Don't."

He backs away looking hurt. I start to cry for real.

Finn says, "We're going to get you help Blaine. It's okay."

I shake my head. "It's over now. Dad's gone. I don't need your help."

Santana says, "Just because you don't _need_ help doesn't mean you shouldn't take it, Blaine."

"Your dad could be back any day," Puck adds, "Just because you feel safe right now doesn't mean it's going to stay that way. You need to get out of this house. You need to report him to the police."

All I want to do is curl up in a corner and cry. I would love to get out of this house. But I don't want to do it on their terms. I want to do it because I'm standing up to my dad. I want to leave in a firey screaming match after telling him exactly what I think of him. I want to leave because Dad has proven to me once and for all that he doesn't deserve to be my dad.

Right now, I kind of respect the fact that my dad is giving me space. By staying away from me, he's protecting me. And until he proves otherwise, I don't want to let other people tell me what to do and where to live. And I'm not going to report my dad to the police. I don't need that drama. I don't need it."

"You wouldn't be our burden, Blaine!" Kurt's voice is cracking with emotion, "We love you. We want to make sure you're okay. If you don't want to go to the police, that's fine, but you can't keep living here as if nothing is wrong."

I sit up a little straighter. I have to let my walls down. Let them know that I appreciate what they're doing. Right now they all look like they're ready to start yelling at me.

I say, "You guys… it means the world to me that you care. It feels… really good to tell the truth. But if you want to help me… just let me deal with this my way."

"Like you've been dealing with it so far? Blaine, how long has this been going on?" Kurt is glaring at me the way only a lover can glare at a lover.

I swallow. "He's only ever touched me on three occasions. In the last six months. But not since before Christmas. He's staying away now to protect me from himself."

Puck says, "Blaine, I know it might seem like he's trying to change and that things will be okay. And maybe they will be. But you can't just stay here living with that uncertainty. The anxiety will kill you."

Finn adds, "Come live at our house. You don't have to report your Dad or even tell anyone why you can't live at home if you're not ready. But just come live with us. So that we can all sleep a little easier, knowing that you're safe."

If I weren't so furious with Kurt for not talking to me personally, I might agree, but I am so fucking furious.

"No," I say, "Just… no. Please just go away. I've lived through worse than what my dad has done to me. I'm not going to change my whole life _again_ just so that _you_ guys can sleep easier. Just get out of my house."

And I storm upstairs and lock myself in my room. Like the mature, confident, intelligent young man I am.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

And what the fuck is wrong with Kurt? Why the fuck did it take being dragged to an intervention by other people for him to finally acknowledge that he's worried about me? What kind of vibe do I give off that makes my own boyfriend believe that I'm okay with admitting such a painful secret to him in a room full of other people?

I think I'm making this whole situation way more complicated than it has to be.


	54. Willing him to go, hoping he'll stay

"Blaine, open the door."

It's the middle of the night, and Kurt is somehow standing outside my bedroom.

I open the door.

He stands at the door, and I look at him and feel nothing but resentment. "What do you want?"

"I want to make sure you're okay," Kurt says softly, reaching out to touch me.

I turn away, and say, "Yeah, well. I'm not okay."

"You're angry."

I turn back. "Yeah!" I say, "I'm fucking angry. Do you know how badly I wanted to talk to you about that stuff? I just could never find the words. But then you found out by yourself, and then you couldn't even _look_ at me! And then you think it's okay to confront me and force me to admit to my biggest insecurity in front of all of those people? Kurt, that wasn't _fair_!"

He looks so scared, sad, and confused at the same time that his face just doesn't know what to do. He whispers, "I just didn't know what to say that wouldn't scare you away from me forever."

"Are you kidding me?" I'm yelling now. "Kurt, I fucking _love_ you. And you fucking _knew_ how much I needed you, but you did _nothing_. You let fucking _Finn_ be the one to take action."

"Hey!" Kurt retorts, "I had to _beg_ Finn to go talk to you. And Santana. Blaine, you don't know how hard it is to talk to you. I knew that if I brought it up, you'd get defensive, shut down, and refuse to speak to me again."

I say, "I wouldn't have."

He says, "You did it to Puck. You did it to Finn. You did it to Santana. They all tried to talk to you, and you cut them all out."

"But they're not my _boyfriends_, Kurt. It's different."

He says, "I don't think even you believe that that's true."

"Yes!" I say, "I do believe it's true. I _needed_ you. Ever since that day at the hospital, I've been waiting for you to ask the question. _Willing_ you to ask it. But you never did. Instead, you go blabbing about me to other people. I thought I could trust you! But now I see that I was stupid."

He looks so heartbroken and scared and sorry and confused that I can't stand to look at him anymore.

I go to my bed and lie down with my face in my pillow, willing him to go away, but hoping that he'll stay.

I hear a frustrated sigh, and then the door closing behind him as he leaves.


	55. I hate him with my bones

I watch from my window as Kurt drives away. It feels like my blood is trying to escape my skin or something because of all of the emotions I can't even begin to process.

I am such a fucking moron sometimes. I've been resenting Kurt for days and days and days for keeping quiet about what I knew he knew, and now that he's finally done something about it, I've refused to let him help me and alienated him completely in the process.

What he did was thoughtful and sweet and completely justified, and I am such a fucking asshole.

Such an asshole.

But this stuff is so unbelievably confusing.

Dad's a fucking asshole too, but he's still my dad. My brother abandoned me and my mother is too damaged to support me, but dad's always been there for me, at least until these last couple of months. Even if I didn't live with him last year, he paid for Dalton when I really needed Dalton. He's always made sure I had a roof over my head and food to eat. He's always made sure I saw the dentist every year, took my asthma medication, and had money for clothes. He's a homophobic, self-centered asshole, but he cared about me enough to put time and effort into trying to get me to become straight. In his fucked up head, he believed he was doing what was best for me.

We used to work on cars, go to football games, and watch movies together all of the time. I've been his best man in two weddings. When I was doing violin competitions, he was my biggest fan and supporter. He'd drive me all over the country and pay any amount of money to help my music career. He was proud of me, and he was never afraid to show it.

I've always known that my dad was an asshole. He treats everyone like shit, from waitresses in restaurants and cashiers in restaurants to the people he works with and the women he's married to. I've always seen that, ever since I was very young. He's rude, chauvinistic, egotistical, homophobic, and sort of racist. When I was younger, any time conversation wandered anywhere near girls or sex, I knew he suspected that I was gay. As it become harder and harder not to acknowledge my sexual orientation, he became more and more determined to get me interested in girls.

But until the end of freshman year when I was almost killed by my classmates, Dad was always good to me. But the assault destroyed our relationship. Dad was humiliated when it was reported on the news and all of his friends and colleagues learned that I was gay. And with the hell of my surgeries and recovery, the painful legal battle to charge my attackers, and the nightmare of my PTSD, it was impossible for him to remain in denial about me. The first thing he said to me when he saw me in the hospital was that if he ever found out that I was with another man, he'd kill me. For several months after that, I was in the hospital and he and I barely spoke to each other. We were never left alone together, because I was always surrounded by nurses and doctors and lawyers and therapists, who he put on a convincing and charming front of support for.

And then he sent me to boarding school and we had ten months to avoid each other. When I moved back in with him this past summer, he was cold and cruel and any remnant of the relationship we'd had before was gone.

But it's anything but easy to give up on your father after a lifetime of being his son. It's anything but easy to let go of that innate desire to be loved by your parents. It's just not easy. Maybe my relationship with Dad is fucked up and poisonous, but I know that the moment I decide to leave this house, I'm abandoning almost seventeen years of hard effort, trying to please my Dad.

It's anything but easy.

Because I want so badly to get out of this house. I hate my dad. I hate him. I hate him with my bones. I hate this house and I hate living in it and wondering when he's going to come back.

I want so badly for him to come back. Just so that I can have some closure. So that I can say goodbye or say fuck you or just say something. I need some fucking closure.

But at the same time, I don't think I'd be any worse for wear if I never saw him again.

This stuff is so unbelievably confusing.

People have told me that I over rationalize things. I work too hard to make things black and white. Kurt has accused me of forcing my emotions into neat, all-encompassing, clearly understood and rational boxes instead of actually dealing with the root of the emotions. I hate blurred lines. I manipulate reality inside of my head, consciously ignoring certain factors and circumstances that impede my ability to draw clear lines between choices. In this way, I am able to come across as very sure of myself. Every thought has its own box, so I never have to doubt myself.

But right now, it's proving very difficult for me to categorize my thoughts.

Kurt and I always joke that it's hard work for us to get physically intimate with each other, because we're both so partial to wearing multiple layers of clothing. But once all of the layers are peeled away and we're down to our basic, naked bodies, the intimacy is always sweet, simple, and wonderful.

I need to peel away the layers of confusion, anger, and get down the basic, naked truth of what my choices are right now.

Living here makes me feel scared and angry and lost and unloved.

My dad makes me feel scared and angry and lost and unloved.

Kurt loves me and I love him. He wants to protect me and I want to feel safe. I love spending time with him. I feel like the Blaine I want to be when we're together.

If I stay here, I'm putting myself at risk of being assaulted by my father again. If I stay here, I'm destroying my relationship with Kurt.

If I leave, I'll be safe, and I'll be with Kurt.

I don't know if either Kurt or I deserve a second chance after our fight tonight, but I know that I want us to make it right.

I start packing my stuff.


	56. Goodbye Dad

It's almost four in the morning, and I have almost all of my belongings strewn in the back of my car and I'm emptying the last drawer of my desk when I hear the front door open. I feel a wave of relief. I didn't want to have to call Kurt. I didn't want to have to figure out what to say to fix the things I said earlier. I'm still angry about the way Kurt handled everything, but I understand why he did what he did, and I love him anyway.

I hear footsteps outside my bedroom door, and when I look up to invite Kurt to come in, my heart stops dead. It's not Kurt standing in the doorway; it's Dad, and he's drunk.

I am on my feet with my fists up so quickly that I feel a head rush, but it's not fast enough; Dad has pinned me against the wall with his hand on my throat, compressing my windpipe

"Going somewhere, Blaine?"

His voice sounds like thunder and his breath smells like whiskey.

I kick his shins and pull his arms, trying to get out of his grasp, but he's twice my size and blind drunk; he barely flinches.

"Let go of me!"

He tightens his grip on my throat. "Running away? Stealing the things I bought for you and disappearing into the night? Is that your plan?"

I say again, "Let go!"

I can't think of anything else to say, despite hoping for so long for one more chance to speak my mind to him.

He says, "You ungrateful little bastard. I come home to try and make things right with you, and I find you packing up to leave?"

He punches me square in the face and I react by kneeing him in the groin and then clocking him in the jaw when he doubles forward. He drops his grip on my throat, and I rush away from the wall.

I try to find words. "Dad, we both know that things between us are never going to be made right. I'm going to go and live with my boyfriend, and we'll both be better off."

He lunges forward and I punch him in side of the head at the same time as he kicks my knees and I topple forward. He pins me to the floor.

"You better not have just said what I think you did," he says, hitting me again hard in the nose. I taste blood.

I say, "You heard me."

Stupid stupid stupid. Stop provoking him.

He hits me again. He doesn't seem to be able to speak; he's too angry.

I say, "Just walk away, Dad."

He doesn't move.

I say, "What're you going to do, Dad? Kill me? Knock me unconscious? Kick me out of the house? You can't win here, Dad. I'm moving out, and you need to let me."

I spit out blood and wait for Dad to do anything.

He stands up and lets me go very abruptly. His eyes look wild and he stares at me, lying covered in blood and grimacing with pain on the floor, and back away, swearing under his breath.

"Go!" he shouts, pointing at the door, "Just go! I don't ever want to see you again!"

I scurry to my feet as quickly as I can. I'm wheezing and trembling and dizzier than I can remember ever being. I stumble out of my room and down the stairs.

I leave my house for probably the last time ever, and go sit in my car, bleeding, broken, and scared.

I sit there and cry for I don't know how long. Dad comes out and sits on the front steps, watching me.

Well, it's over now, anyway.

Goodbye Dad.


	57. I'm living that life

My nose is still bleeding and my head is pounding and my eyes are swollen and my neck is stiff and painful. My heart won't stop pounding. I'm driving aimlessly around town, watching the sun come up.

I find myself parked outside of Kurt's house. But I'm too scared to call him or even to knock on the door, so I just sit in my car, staring at my steering wheel.

I'd planned to talk to Kurt at school and mend our relationship carefully before I asked him if he was serious about me moving in, but Dad showing last night has complicated things. I don't think it's fair to either of us for me to show up on his doorstep now, covered in blood, when our relationship is so fragile. We need to talk things through and repair the damage that both of us have done to our relationship before I can ask for his help.

But right now I'm covered in blood and bruises, and all I want is Kurt's arms around me and gentle words in my ears. I don't have the energy to repair anything. I don't have the courage to reach out to him when things are so muddled and messy between us.

Furthermore, I can't bear the thought of being the abandoned and abused charity case that Kurt's family—who have already gone through so much—has to take in. Not after assuring Kurt and Finn just last night that I didn't need their help.

After a while, the sun starts coming up, and I see movement in Kurt's house, so I drive away before anyone sees me sitting there.

I find myself parked in front of my mom's care facility, staring at the sign and wondering what she's doing and thinking. If she knew what Dad had just done, how would she react? Mom often gives the most wonderful advice and reassurances, but hearing this news might very well send her down another bad road, and I don't want to risk that for her.

I need my mommy right now, but I can't make myself go inside.

I look at my cell phone. It's ten o'clock in the morning now. I'm late for school. I have texts from Kurt and Santana asking where I am.

I look through my contacts, trying to figure out who I can call.

I stop when I find Cooper's number. I have a lot of resentment and anger toward my brother, but right now I need to talk to someone who is going to understand, and I think that Cooper is probably my best bet.

The fact that we're practically strangers and he lives on the other side of the country almost makes it easier. I don't ever have to look him in the eye again if I don't want to.

He answers after the fourth ring, and I've obviously woken him up. "Hello?" He's groggy and sounds a little irritable.

"Cooper, it's Blaine."

My voice doesn't sound like my voice, it's so shaky and uncertain.

Cooper sounds suddenly a lot more awake when he says, "Blaine, what's up?"

I say, "Dad just beat me up and kicked me out."

There's a brief silence, and then Cooper says, "Fuck, Blaine. Where are you?"

"In my car," I say, "I don't know what to do."

"Are you hurt?"

"I think my nose is broken."

He says, "Go to the hospital, Blaine."

I feel my throat tightening with dread. "They'll ask questions," I say.

"So answer them," Cooper says, "Blaine, you need to fucking press charges. Do you want me to fly up there?"

I blink away tears. "I don't know," I say, "I'm scared, Cooper."

"Blaine, I'm serious. Go to the hospital. Tell them everything."

I say, "I can't. They'll put me in foster care or something."

Cooper says, "If you left Dad's house under your own free will and with his permission, you're an emancipated minor, and they don't have to put you in the system. Did he tell you to go?"

I nod, and then remember I'm on the phone, and I say, "Yes."

He says, "You tell them that, then. And if that doesn't work, call your mom. She's not legally eligible to be your guardian, but she's allowed to name a guardian for you if Dad's not able anymore. Get her to name _me_ your guardian."

There are tears flooding down my cheeks now. Cooper has obviously done his homework.

He asks, "Do you have a place to stay, Kurt? With a friend or something?"

I don't want to admit to my brother that I'm to proud to ask my boyfriend for help, so I say, "Yes. I think so."

He says, "You can stay with me if nothing else. Go to the hospital. Let them clean you up. Tell them everything. Talk to the police. Don't over think it. I'll fly up there if you need me."

I say, "Cooper, I can't do that to Dad. He's an asshole, but he's still our Dad. I'm safe now. I'm not going back to his house. I don't want to go through another legal nightmare like that."

Cooper says, "Blaine, I get that. Trust me, I've been there. And I didn't tell anyone anything. Imagine how I feel now, Blaine. Seeing the hell you're going through, which I could have prevented if I'd just spoken up when I had the chance?"

I swallow the huge lump in my throat. "Cooper, this isn't your fault."

He says, "Yes it is. And Dad's going to hurt other people, Blaine. He'll marry women, have more kids, and do the same thing over and over again. Right now—while you have physical injuries as proof—is your opportunity to prevent Dad from hurting anyone ever again."

I lean back in my car seat and close my eyes. He's just as logical as I am, and I can't think of a single thing to refute his argument. Except: "What if they don't believe me?"

Cooper says, "You have to try, Blaine. Better to tell the truth and have nobody believe you than live with the regret of never speaking up. Trust me. I'm living that life."

I've stopped crying now, and my insides are starting to harden with resolve. I'm going to do this. I start my car.

"Okay," I say, "I'm going to the hospital."

Cooper sounds so so so relieved. "Okay. Good. Blaine, I know that I'm a shitty brother, but you'll call me if you need anything, right? I can send you money. I can fly up there. I can fly you down here. I'll tell the police my own story. Whatever you need."

I nod and whisper, "Thanks Cooper. Thank you."


	58. They're going to help me

I think I'm going to the hospital, but then I find myself walking into McKinley High. The halls are empty because everyone is already in class, but suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder and I jump half a mile into the air, shouting out involuntarily in fear.

"Whoa," Blaine, it's me," Suddenly I see Mr. Schuester standing in front of my, surveying my face in alarm with his hand on my shoulder.

I blink. "Hi Mr. Schue," I say.

He says, "Let's get you cleaned up, Blaine."

His voice is quiet and tentative, and I don't know what he means, but I follow him down the hall and into the boy's bathroom. I don't know why I'm at school.

I look in the mirror and remember that I got punched in the face several times last night. There is blood all down my nose and chin, dried and brown and awful. I have huge, dark, and swollen bruises forming around my eyes and my nose is crooked and puffy. My curls have escaped from yesterday's jell, and they're sticking out in every direction. I have a massive blue bruise forming on my neck where dad's hand pinned me to the wall.

I stare at my reflected in shock for a moment and then with a jolt remember that I am at school and that Mr. Schue is standing beside me, looking at me like I am the saddest thing he's ever seen.

I jump backwards a little. "Fuck," I say as I feel my heart start to pound uncontrollably and my hands start to shake.

My first instinct is to run, but Mr. Schue is dampening a paper towel silently and saying nothing, so I grip the counter, take deep breaths, and let Mr. Schue clean the blood off of my face. By the time most of the blood is gone and I've tidied my hair as best I can, I am in a full blown panic attack and practically hyperventilating.

Mr. Schue puts his hand on my shoulder and silently nudges me out of the bathroom and down the hall into the counsellor's office. Mr. Pillsbury looks up in alarm but I barely notice. I sit down, pretend I'm alone, and try not to feel like I'm dying.

I can't breathe. I can't see. Everything is spinning. Everything is terrifying. I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it.

I hate it.

After I don't know how long, I realize that my blood has slowed down and I'm breathing normally. But I can't remember the last time I slept or ate or even why I'm at school, and my head is spinning and my nose is throbbing and my neck is aching.

Mr. Schue is gone, but Ms. Pillsbury is sitting at her desk quietly, watching me.

"I should go to class," I say abruptly, getting to my feet.

Ms. Pillsbury is immediately blocking her office door. "No, Blaine, "she says, "You aren't going to class today. Sit down. Are you hungry?"

I feel like if I had any pride I would protest and insist upon going to class, but class is the last place that I want to go, and I don't think I remember what pride is.

"I'm starving," I say.

Ms. Pillsbury pushes a bowl of grapes and a muffin across her desk. I start eating.

She asks carefully, "Blaine, have you been assaulted?"

I stare at her and say nothing, peeling the wrapper off of the muffin.

She says, "Blaine, earlier this morning, several other students came to me expressing concern about your home situation. Blaine, is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

I stare at her some more. Ms. Pillsbury is the sweetest, kindest, least threatening person I've ever met. I still don't know what to say.

"Blaine, I'm only here to listen. I won't ask you to do or say anything you aren't comfortable with, but I can help you if you feel like you need help."

I say, "My dad kicked me out of the house last night."

My words sound like they're coming out of someone else' mouth.

Ms. Pillsbury looks exhaustingly relieved to hear me speak, but her relief quickly turns to concern.

Carefully controlling her tone, she says, "I'm so sorry, Blaine. Do you have a place to stay?"

I shake my head.

She asks, "Did your dad give you those bruises?"

I nod.

She swallows. "Do you want me to take you to the hospital, Blaine?"

I stare at her for a moment and then nod.

She takes my head and leads me out the staff doors to ensure that no students see me.

The next few hours pass in a blur. I get my nose set, talk to doctors, nurses, police officers, and social workers, and cry a lot. I tell people everything, and they all promise me that they're going to help me.

I'm so tired and emotionally confused that I don't think I even understand what the word 'help' means anymore.

I answer so many questions.

I tell so many stories.

I don't know why there have to be so many questions.

So many people asking all of the same questions.

My dad is a homophobic asshole who hit me and kicked me out. That's all there is to it.

But there are so many questions.

They're only trying to help.

Help.


	59. I fucking need him

Somehow I'm back in Ms. Pillsbury's office. It's four o'clock. I'm missing glee rehearsal.

"You can stay with me and Mr. Schuester tonight," Ms. Pillsbury says, "You can stay for as long as you need to Blaine. Unless you have a friend you'd rather ask?"

Tears well up in my eyes again. I'm so exhausted.

"Kurt," I whisper, "Get Kurt."

Ms. Pillsbury nods silently and leaves the room.

I sit alone in her office and try to collect myself. The harder I try to collect myself, the more I fall apart. I don't know why I asked for Kurt. I still think that we need to fix our relationship before I should ask to live with him. But I just fucking _need_ him so badly right now.

I fucking need him.

It's excruciatingly humiliating to imagine staying with Mr. Schue and Ms. Pillsbury. I want to stay with Kurt because I just need his arms around me, no matter how broken our relationship might be.

"Blaine?" Kurt and Ms. Pillsbury are standing at the door.

I look up and immediately feel my chest start to heave with sobs. Kurt is at my side immediately with his arms around me, and if he's shocked by my appearance, I can't tell, because my face is buried in his chest and I'm crying and relishing his warmth and familiarity.

I allow myself about thirty seconds of him holding me before I pull away, brushing away my tears. I know that there is only so long that Kurt can silently hold me before the confusion and worry will become unbearable for him.

"Dad kicked me out," I whisper.

He pulls me in for another hug.

"Fuck," he says, "I am so sorry, Blaine. So sorry."

He doesn't ask any questions or offer any advice; he just holds me, and I love him for it.

Finally, Ms. Pillsbury says, "Kurt, can Blaine stay with you and your family?"

I feel Kurt nodding.

She says, "Can you give me your dad's phone number, Kurt? I'd like to speak to him."

Kurt nods again, and pulls his phone out of his pocket without taking his other arm off of me.

"He's at the garage," Kurt says, handing her the phone, "The number is in the contacts."

Ms. Pillsbury takes the phone and asks, "Blaine, are you comfortable with me explaining your situation to Kurt's dad?"

My stomach clenches, but I nod. Kurt returns his arm around me and I squeeze him and start to cry again. He rubs my back and whispers, "Shhh… it's okay, Blaine. I'm here. You're okay."

Our fight last night is completely forgotten. Kurt is taller than me, but also more slender, and his body around mine feels like a spider's web of safety, and I can't remember feeling so exposed and scared in my life. Just how willing I am and how wonderful it is to let Kurt help me is honestly terrifying.

I don't know how much time has passed before Ms. Pillsbury returns to the room, but I'm done crying, and Kurt and I are just sitting there, holding hands with my head on his shoulder and his head against mine. We both sit up when she comes in.

"Kurt, can you drive Blaine's car home for him? I don't want him driving today."

He says, "Of course. Of course."

She says, "Your step-mom is going to meet you at home and call me so I know that you're both safe. Please go straight home, okay?"

Kurt nods.

I nod.

There is a moment's silence, and then she says, "Well, whenever you feel ready, you can go home, alright?"

Kurt and I look at each other and we both slowly stand up, still gripping each others' hands.

"Thank you," I say to Ms. Pillsbury, "Seriously. For everything."

She smiles sadly. "It's the least I can do, Blaine. Whenever you're ready to talk, my door is open."

"Thank you," Kurt and I say simultaneously.

He squeezes my hand and as we leave her office I feel suddenly a little lighter, like things are going to be okay.

But Glee rehearsal is letting out just as we walk down the hall with his arm around my shoulder, and every stops in their tracks and stares when they catch sight of me.

"Oh my god, Blaine, what happened?" Mercedes is the first to approach me, followed closely by Rachel and Tine.

I feel my whole body tense up immediately and I instinctively clamp my eyes closed to block them out. I am so tired.

Kurt's arm tightens around me, and I hear Finn's voice saying, "Just give him some space, guys. Come on."

Finn and Kurt help me hurry out of the school, and I start crying again as we approach my car.

"What's going on?" I hear Finn mutter quietly to Kurt as I find my key and unlock the passenger door.

I make eye contact with Kurt to let him know that it's okay for him to tell Finn.

"His dad kicked him out. I'm gunna drive him to our place. He's going to stay with us."

I don't hear Finn's reaction, because I sit down in the passenger seat and close the door behind me. I can't stop crying.

It's like the harder I cry, the more I hate myself for crying, and the harder it is to stop.

I seriously need to pull it together. It's one thing to let Kurt hold me and see me break down, but it's quite another thing to have his whole family see me that way.

Just thinking about it reminds me about how wonderful and loving Kurt's family is, and I just cry some more.

When we get to Kurt's house, we sit in the car for a few moments. I literally hold my breath to stop the sobs.

Kurt hands me some tissue and I clean myself up as best I can. Intense anxiety about going into that house and officially admitting defeat stems the flow of tears.

Kurt tidies my hair for me, kisses me, and says, "Everything, is going to be okay now, Blaine. Come inside."


	60. Proud to count each other as family

Inside, Carole gives me a warm hug and tells me just to ask if there's anything she can do for me.

Finn walks in just after us and he hugs me too. I'm so exhausted and emotionally wrecked that it doesn't even seem awkward.

Kurt and I go up to his bedroom and I collapse on his bed, letting him spoon me as I drift in and out of confused sleep all night long.

It's probably the longest night of Kurt's life.

I wake up when Kurt starts getting ready for school. I look up, and he immediately stops what he's doing to look at me.

"You awake?"

I nod, getting out of bed slowly. I'm groggy, but I feel a million times better than I had last night. My mind is clear, but I still feel somehow disconnected.

I go to the mirror and stare at myself. My neck is turning green and the margins of the bruising seem to be expanding. My eyes are black. I look like a racoon. Kurt stands behind me and runs his fingers across the bruising on my neck.

"Did he try to strangle you?"

I look away.

"Are you coming to school?"

I close my eyes.

"Do you want a shower?"

I nod.

"Carole left a towel for you on the counter. Use the shampoo and conditioner that's in there."

He puts his hand on my cheek and kisses me. "I'll see you tonight, okay? I have a calc exam or I'd skip school entirely."

I shrug and go to the bathroom to shower. When I get back, clean but still battered, Kurt is gone.

I feel a sense of overwhelming shame for acting so cold toward him. He deserves so much more from me.

I sit on Kurt's bed for ages, trying to figure out what to do to pass the day. I'm too afraid to go downstairs and be forced to be apologetically and sheepishly charming and brave-faced for Kurt's parents. I'm much too afraid to go to school looking the way I do, or to answer the concerned text-messages from my friends. I'm too afraid to visit my mother.

I'm too afraid to even bring my stuff into this house.

I don't know how I got so scared.

I just need a day to myself to sort out my brain and reclaim the confident, charming persona of Blaine that I like so much better than this broken, disconnected one.

Carole and Burt leave for work, and I go slowly downstairs. I eat breakfast and then suddenly find myself sitting at their piano.

My left hand is too stiff to play anything elaborate, and I've been getting shooting pains for the past few weeks in my bad hand whenever I move even my functioning fingers too much, but I know music well enough that I can still plunk out rhythms and experiment with melodies and harmonies.

There is something outstandingly cathartic about exploring new worlds of sound and questing for that perfect combination and progression of sounds to make bits of your soul relax and reconcile.

"That's beautiful, Blaine." A female voice interrupts me. "I didn't know you played."

I turn around in alarm and see Carole standing there, taking off her shoes and still wearing her coat. Burt is right behind her.

I look at the clock. It's five o'clock. I've somehow been playing all day. Kurt and Finn got out of glee practice half an hour ago. They could be home any minute.

I tell Carole, "I haven't played in years, but yeah. It's cathartic."

She smiles, putting her shoes on the shelf. As she unbuttons her coat and Burt pulls it off of her shoulders, she asks, "How're you feeling today, honey?"

I turn to face both of them, hoping that I can somehow convey how very grateful I feel.

"I'm much better," I say, "A long sleep and some time by myself to think did me good. I'm sorry I was so out of it yesterday, I didn't even properly thank you for your hospitality. I appreciate it more than I can express."

Burt and Carole smile and nod, both studying me carefully. Burt says, "It's no trouble at all, Blaine. After everything you've done for Kurt, we're happy to have you. You stay here as long as you want. Consider us family."

I feel a huge lump of emotion, and I blink. "Thank you," I whisper.

Carole comes and puts her arms around me. "Nobody deserves what you went through, Blaine. We're here for whatever you need."

I hug her back, and say, "Thank you."

I'm doing my best to be humble and grateful without appearing broken and helpless. It's not easy.

Burt says, "Carole and I are cleaning up a room for you in the basement. As much as I'm sure you'd love to share a room with Kurt, Carole and I think it's best for you two as teenagers to have to work a little harder than that for sex."

I blush and smile a little for the first time in days. "Fair enough," I say. I'm a little relieved. I don't know if Kurt and I are ready to really share a room and a bed. "I'll help you."

"No no," Carole says, "No need."

Before I can insist, the door opens again, and Kurt and Finn come through the door, each carrying a pizza box. "Dinner time!" Finn grins, holding his up above his head.

Finn, Carole and Burt quickly disappear to the dining room while and I greet each other. "Hey," he says, leaning in for a kiss. "You alright?"

I nod and kiss him again, savouring it.

He pulls away eventually, and evaluates my injuries again. "Jesus," he mutters, "You look like hell."

I grin half-sheepishly, trying to convey to him that I'm feeling much stronger and courageous than yesterday. "Gee thanks," I say, "How was your exam?"

Kurt shrugs. "I'm sure I did fine. What did you do today?"

"Not much. Goofed around on the piano, mostly. Helped me clear my mind."

He nods. "Okay," he says, "Well I'm glad. You seem much more coherent than yesterday. I was worried about you all day."

I kiss him. "I'll be okay. This stuff is just so… fucked up. I'm sorry about yesterday. I was sleep deprived and stressed out after talking to the police and social workers all day, and my brain just… wasn't working. I'm sorry for pulling you through that with me."

Before Kurt can respond, Carole calls us to come have dinner. The whole family sits around the table, and I avoid eye contact with everyone as we take our first few bites.

Burt clears his throat after a few silent moments. He says, "I have something to say."

Everyone gives him their full attention. "Everyone in this room has experienced loss, change, hardship, and healing within our families. Life is cruel sometimes. But what's important is that we're all here together, and proud to count each other as family. Blaine, regardless of how much or little time you remain here with us, you are family. We're here to care and support you. You could be in for a challenging year with the charges you're pressing against your father, but we'll be here for you, okay? All of us."

Now they're all watching me, and I make an effort to meet all of their eyes and show them that I'm grateful and courageous.

I say, "You're too wonderful. I can't thank you enough. I'll get through this."

Carole says, "I don't want you to feel like you have to search for another place to stay. Just relax and let us help you, okay?"

I nod, trying to fight off my natural inclination to feel humiliated. If they're going to respect me, I have to let them help me without begging for help. I have to accept their hospitality without relying on it entirely. I have to be gracious and charming and humble and show no sign of the humiliation, fear, and confusion I actually feel.

Kurt senses how uncomfortable I feel, and he changes the subject. "Maybe we should go out tonight," he says, "See a movie or something."

I've spent so much time inside of my head the last couple of days that a movie sounds like a welcome escape. "Cool," I say, "That sounds nice. I just don't know if I have the nerve to leave the house looking like this." I laugh a little, and I feel everyone laugh a little, knowing that I'm feeling well enough to laugh at myself.

"Not to worry," Kurt says, "We'll just get you a scarf, some concealer and some sunglasses, and nobody will even notice."

I grin. Kurt is a fashion genius. I trust him to make me look good. "Okay," I say, "Let's go out."

"Excellent," Burt says, "It'll do you good to get out and about. Carole and I will get your room ready while you're out. Is there anything you need? Were you able to take any of your clothes and stuff from your father's house?"

I nod. "I was uh…" I pause, wondering how honest I should be. "I was already mostly packed before Dad even… told me to leave. I'd been planning to move out anyway."

Kurt squeezes my leg under the table and says, "His car is full of his stuff. We'll carry it in when we get back from the movies."

Everyone nods. We finish eating and Kurt and I go upstairs to get ready to go out. As he agonizes over which scarf will match my jacket the best, I say, "You know how sorry I am about yelling at you about the intervention, right Kurt? I was scared and stupid, and you didn't deserve the reaction I gave you."

Kurt puts a green scarf around my neck and says, "Forget it, Blaine. I understand. I know now that I should have approached you privately. I just… I was scared and stupid too, I guess."

We kiss, and I say, "What happened happened. We'll put it behind us. I don't know what I would do if I didn't have you in my life right now. I love you so much."

He says, "I love you too."

We go to the movies.


	61. He has no idea how scared I really am

Kurt and I enjoy a drama free evening of watching a cheesy romantic comedy and feeding each other popcorn while by unspoken agreement keeping the conversation far away from my bruises or our fight. We're just boyfriends enjoying a movie with no secrets between us and a lot of affection for each other.

It's really nice.

We try to fool around in his car after the movie, but my neck is so stiff and sore and my nose is so tender that we have to be careful and it puts a damper on the mood, so we don't get too far before we find ourselves just sitting there, cuddling.

Kurt asks, "Have you told your mom what happened yet?"

There's an unspoken understanding that I don't want to talk about what happened between me and my dad, but I'm grateful that he's comfortable enough with things to ask questions about other things.

I shake my head. "No. I don't know if I can."

He gives me his puppy dog look, and says, "I think she deserves to know, Blaine."

I say, "I'll talk to her doctor and see if he thinks she can handle it. I just don't want to upset her too much right now."

He kisses me and says, "I'll come with you to talk to her, if it'll help."

Kissing him back, I say, "I'll think about it. It might be easier alone."

He says, "Finn and Dad both asked me why you couldn't stay with her."

My jaw clenches a bit. "What did you tell them?"

He says, "The truth."

I grimace. He says, "I told them that it wasn't my place to tell them, and that they should ask you themselves. I didn't know what else to say. I didn't want to lie to them, but I know how hard it was for you to even let _me_ in on that part of your life, so I wasn't going to tell them."

That's the Kurt I love. I squeeze his hand and whisper, "Thank you, Kurt."

He nods and squeezes back. "What about your brother?" he asks, "I know you two aren't close, but I think you should let him know what happened."

I say, "I did. Cooper's the first person I called after Dad kicked me out."

Kurt looks surprised and encouraged at the same time. As though there is hope for me after all.

I say, "Cooper's the one who convinced me to press charges against Dad."

"Really? I was wondering about that. What did he say?"

Shrugging, I tell Kurt, "Cooper could have reported dad to the police ten years ago when dad was hitting him, but he didn't."

Kurt's eyes narrow, and he nods. "Damn," he says, "He could have prevented this from happening to you."

I nod. "And I think it's killing him to know it. My dad's getting married again, Kurt. He's going to keep hurting people. I can't let that happen."

"So you told the police everything?"

"I told them everything."

"And what happens next?"

I say, "They'll arrest him for assault. They probably already have."

"And then?"

I shrug. "Since I've already removed myself from his house, they'll let him out on bail within a day or two, and then there'll be an investigation. And then the case will go to trial. The whole process could take months or years."

"Jesus." He hugs me. "That sounds exhausting. Are you going to be okay?"

Nodding, I say, "It needs to be done, you know? I kept my mouth shut for too long. I'm not supposed to be that guy. I have to do this. For everyone Dad's ever hurt and will hurt."

Kurt says, "And for yourself, Blaine, right?"

"I have to prove to myself that I'm not the guy who lets anyone get away with pushing me around," I say.

I hadn't even really realized that I felt that way, but I know it's true when I say the words.

Kurt says, "Blaine, you're seriously the bravest person I know."

I can't respond to that because he has no idea how scared I really am. I think that most other people could deal with the crap I've been through a lot better than I have. Kurt just doesn't know anyone else who's been through the stuff I have.

He says, "I just hope you realize how inspiring you are."

"I'm just trying to hang on to the self-respect that _you_ consistently remind me is so important."

We try again to fool around and it's gentle and tender and much more successful.


	62. It seems like you're too good to be true

Kurt and I drive home from without saying much. I think we're both pretty deep in thought. Things between us are different now. The relationship we first build last year is gone. We're not the private school gay boys in our matching blazers dancing around in the magical sanctuary of Dalton anymore. Things are so much more real. It's scary and wonderful at the same time. A year ago, I would never have dreamed that I could feel so connected to another person.

I always thought I might be a little too self-absorbed to ever really let anyone in.

I think I have to be really careful not to let this whole thing with my dad bog down our relationship. There is so much more to both of our lives than the fucked up drama of domestic abuse. Kurt's graduating this year. We have to make the best of the time we still have together. And I have to make sure that he doesn't feel like my problems make his insignificant. I have to make sure he knows he can talk to me about the stress and confusion of college applications and exams and figuring out what to do with his life.

I have to make sure that my misfortunes don't become the focal point of either of our lives, because I know that Kurt is the type to worry and dwell. It's going to be a weird transition to get used to me living with the Hudson-Hummels, but I have to be brave about it. I have to make sure that everyone knows that I'm strong enough to bounce back quickly. I have other things going on in my life that I can't let slide away just because I'm having some family turmoil.

When we get back to the house, it's almost midnight, but Kurt and his entire family still help me carry all of my in from my car to my new room in the basement of their house.

"I know that the basement isn't ideal," Carole apologizes, "But there are plenty of blankets if it gets cold."

I shrug. The room is unfinished with concrete floors and plywood walls, but Finn's mom has managed to make it seem cozy with throw rugs and curtains and furniture. "This is perfect," I tell her, "Thank you."

She says, "There's a bathroom down here that you'll have to yourself, and I'll have a house key cut for you tomorrow. Feel free to take food from the kitchen when you're hungry and use the TVs and video games and whatever you want. Make yourself at home, okay, sweetie?"

I nod, and give her a hug of thanks. She says, "Let me know if there's anything at all you need, okay?"

Kurt kisses me goodnight, and everyone leave my room.

Suddenly, as I look around at all of the piles of my clothes and books and cds sitting on the bed and floor, it hits me how real this whole thing is.

I fucking live here now.

This is my room.

There's something really exciting and cathartic about putting your things away in a new room that is all your own.

I like it down here. It's quiet and feels safe. I grab a pile of my clothes and start hanging things up in the closet.

I'm not really a fashionista, but my boyfriend is, and he loves to take me shopping, so I have a lot of clothes.

I don't realize how itchy my throat and ears and nose are getting until I start sneezing after hanging up an argyle sweater vest. My breath hitches and my eyes flutter closed and my head pitches forward and I sneeze so many times in a row that I have to sit down on my bed and wait for the fit to pass so that I don't get too dizzy.

It's not like I'm unaccustomed to allergy attacks, but now really isn't a good time for one.

Months ago, I was allergic to the dessert that Carole made me. And now I'm obviously allergic to something in the bedroom she's set up for me.

Once the first sneezing fit passes I hope that it's a fluke, and keep unpacking, but before long everything inside of my head feels itchy and my eyes are streaming allergic tears. I'm sniffly and wheezy and miserable and starting to panic a little. I have to figure out what is getting to me and get rid of it, or else there's no way I'm going to be able to sleep in this room.

But it is a basement, so it's probably dust or mold or something impossible to get rid of.

I can't fucking stop sneezing.

I give up on my allergen hunt pretty quickly and start a hunt for my inhaler instead. My vision is blurry from all of the water my eyes are producing, but I overturn every pile and dump out every box and bag trying to remember where I've put it.

It's seriously not fun to sneeze when you have a broken nose.

This is actually kind or a hilarious problem compared to everything else that's happened to me in the last few days.

If I don't find my inhaler in about two minutes, I'm going to have to just get the fuck out of this room before I go into a full blown asthma attack.

I close the closet door to look behind it, and see that Carole has plugged an air freshener into the wall, which has probably been pumping a floral scent into the room all evening. I breathe a very wheezy sigh of relief and unplug it.

I find my inhaler under a pile of t-shirts, open the window, and leave the room to breathe clean air while I let the perfumed air freshener filter out of the room through the open window.

Finn's voice interrupts my relief as I lean against the wall outside my room with my eyes closed, sucking on my inhaler.

"Are you alright?"

I almost drop the inhaler, I'm so surprised. I cough and open my eyes. Finn is playing video games on the couch in the rec room adjacent to my room. "Jesus. I didn't know you were there," I say, putting my hand over my heart to indicate how hard it's beating.

He laughs, and says, "Sorry. You alright?"

I nod, grinning sheepishly and wiping my watery eyes. "Yeah." I put my inhaler into my pocket and sneeze a few times.

"Bless you," Finn says, "You don't look so good, Blaine."

"No kidding," I say, "I can't stop sneezing. Your mom had one of those air freshener thingies plugged into the wall in there." I sneeze three more times in a row.

Finn remembers, "And you have serious issues with perfumes. Yikes. Did you unplug it?"

I nod. "Yeah," I say, laughing and gingerly blowing my nose with a tissue from the coffee table. "I'll just wait for the air to clear out a bit before I go back in there, I think."

Laughing, Finn slides over to make room for me on the couch. "Want to play?" He's playing some shooting game that I'm sure I'd never be able to pull off with my crippled fingers.

I shake my head, sitting down beside him. "I'll just watch. Don't mind me."

Finn keeps playing. "Do you want some Benadryl or something?" he asks, "I think there's some in the bathroom."

"Nah," I say, "This should pass quickly now that I've figure out what started it." I cough a little and Finn grimaces when he hears how wheezy I still am.

He says, "Fuck. You're just not having a good couple of days, are you?"

I laugh. "I guess not. It really is typical of my luck lately to have a dramatic allergic reaction two days after breaking my nose. It's fucking painful."

As if on cue, I sneeze again.

Finn can't help but laugh, which was my intention. I laugh with him. "This is a whole new side of you, Blaine. You're kind of a miss, aren't you?"

I shrug. "I'll pull myself back together before school on Monday, don't worry."

"I don't doubt that you will," Finn says, rolling his eyes in good humour.

I use my inhaler again. "Don't tell your mom about this, alright? She'll just feel guilty."

He says, "It's our secret."

I carefully blow my nose again. I can feel my head already starting to stop itching. I watch Finn blow up some aliens and try to wrap my head around the fact that he and I now live in the same house.

"I feel like I should apologize," I say, "About what an ass I was to you at the intervention the other night. I really really did appreciate what you guys were doing."

Finn says, "Don't apologize. I actually didn't think you were an ass at all. You handled it well. I'm just sorry that we couldn't have convinced you to get out of that house a little bit sooner and saved you these injuries."

"It's nothing too serious," I say, shrugging.

He says, "I just really hope you know how terrible we feel that we didn't prevent any of this from happening to you."

"Don't," I say, "You helped me more than you can know. If you and Puck and Santana and even Kurt hadn't talked to me about it and made me face reality, I'd probably still be in denial, trying to pretend nothing was wrong."

"Well, I'm glad you're safe now, and I hope the trials and stuff go well."

"Thank," I say, feeling myself blush a little. "Honestly, this whole thing is just so fucked up and humiliating… I want it to just go away."

Finn says, "Humiliating? Blaine, none of this is your fault. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

Sneezing again, I say, "I know that, I guess. But don't tell me that you wouldn't feel awkward and embarrassed if you were in my shoes."

"If anything, knowing what you've been going through only make me respect you more."

I can't see how lies and cowardice equal respect.

Finn continues, "Sometimes it seems like you're too good to be true, Blaine. You have so much talent and so much charisma. Everyone loves you. You inspire so many people to believe in themselves. The fact that you can be so put-together and confident when you're taking so much crap at home is incredible."

I say, "It's all about being really really good at denial. Don't respect that. If I had any self respect, I would have left the moment Dad laid a finger on me."

"I know it's not that simple," Finn says, "Don't give yourself crap about it. What's important is that you got out and that you're safe now."

I nod.

He says, "You know, you're going to have to tell the glee club about this, Blaine."

I grimace. "No."

"Blaine, Ms. Pillsbury pulled Kurt out of rehearsal on Thursday and we all knew from the look on her and Mr. Schue's face that it was something serious. And then they saw you covered in blood and bruises barely coherent leaving the school with Kurt. Everyone's been freaking out. I don't know what to tell them."

I close my eyes. "Do you think that if I told them the truth it would help them, or just depress them?"

Finn says, "I think you have the chance to really inspire some people, Blaine. You have the chance to raise some awareness. Talk to Puck. Maybe the two of you can talk to the group together. He's been through the same thing, Blaine. The same thing. And I don't think anyone but you and I and maybe Santana and Kurt know."

I say, "I'll tell the choir the truth if Puck does too. If he's not ready to talk about it, I'm telling people I got beat up by a football player or something."

"Fair enough."

There's a silence, and Finn blows up another alien.


	63. Nobody knows the man backstage

"Okay guys, circle up." Mr. Schue calls. The whole glee club is standing on the stage in the auditorium and the lights are down. Everyone forms a circle, and Mr. Schue tells us to take a seat.

He says, "Today is going to be a bit different. I know that Regionals is right around the corner, but we're going to take a break from rehearsing for a day. Noah and Blaine have a song and some things to say to all of you."

Everyone turns immediately to stare at me. People have been staring at me all day. Puck slips away quietly to get his guitar as I try to push back the blush from my cheeks and psyche up for what we're about to do.

Puck and I sit in chairs beside each other and everyone shifts a bit to form a cozy semi-circle, watching us with more attention and apprehension than I've ever seen them await a song with before.

Puck makes sure his guitar is in tune and goes through the chords of our song very quickly. He and I make eye contact, and then we both take deep breaths.

"This song is a Blaine Anderson original," Puck says finally, turning back to the group, "It's called _Punching Bag."_

He begins to play, and I begin to sing.

_The spotlight holds me hostage_  
_You watch me shine all day_  
_A circle of light on a living stage_  
_A never-ending run of the same sad show_

_Nobody knows the man backstage_  
_He controls the spotlight _  
_He traps me on the stage_

_The spotlight is my safe place_  
_A shiny beam of confidence_  
_I play my part and take my bows_  
_Beyond the brightness doesn't matter_  
_Until the lights go down_

_Nobody knows the man backstage_  
_He controls the spotlight _  
_He traps me on the stage_

_Left, right, left, right_  
_Bam, slam, wham_  
_Hitting things is easy when the lights go down_  
_Fist, fist, wham, slam_  
_The punching bag keeps swaying _  
_When the curtain opens again_

_Nobody knows the man backstage_  
_He controls the spotlight _  
_He traps me on the stage_

_Fist, fist, wham, slam_  
_The punching bag keeps swaying _

It's the song I wrote on Friday at the piano in Kurt's living room when I was hiding from the world. I sing it with my eyes closed because the song means a lot to me, but I'm not sure if it will to anyone else. I need to feel the song without worrying about anyone else' reactions.

Puck plays guitar and harmonizes wonderfully. I don't think anyone ever gives him enough credit as a musician. He learned this song in about half an hour.

When we finish playing, I keep my eyes closed until I feel Puck hugging me over top of his guitar. I open my eyes to whisper my thanks to him, and see that he has tears in his eyes.

We turn back to the group, who have all gone very quiet. Nobody claps or says a word. They just wait for Puck or me to say something. My stomach is doing cartwheels.

Puck says quietly, "You guys know that I'm not big into the emotional inspirational crap, but I think that what we have to say is really important. So just… Please let us talk, and save any questions for the end. What Blaine and I are going to talk to you about today isn't going to be easy for either of us."

Nobody moves or even seems to breathe. I see tears streaming down more than one face, and I don't know what they think we're about to say.

Puck starts. He says, "My Dad used to tell my mom she was a worthless slut and that she was a terrible parent. I mean, he'd make her cry every day, just by insulting her when he was drunk. And when I was four or five, I started trying to stick up for her."

He told me this story yesterday, but it still makes me want to puke, hearing it again.

Puck says, "When I stuck for her, he would hit me. And after he hit me, he'd convince me that I deserved it. I was young and stupid, and he was my dad, but I believed it."

Rachel wipes away some tears, obviously terrified that her movement will spook Puck.

Puck continues, "He never hurt me bad. There were never visible bruises. He'd just hit me hard enough that I'd stop trying to protect my mom for a while."

Puck actually gags as he says the words, and I close my eyes again, afraid that I'm going to start crying before I have to tell my story.

"As I got older, he had to hit me harder and more often, because I became less and less willing to see him treat my mom like shit. I kept trying to get my mom to leave him, but she wouldn't. So I just kept fighting with my dad, until one day I just couldn't stand it. So I went to the police."

He stares out at the choir as though daring them to say something.

"And now I haven't seen him since I was ten."

Nobody says a word, and Puck turns to me. Everyone follows suit, tearing their eyes away from Puck to start at me.

I'm sitting here with black eyes and bruised neck, and I think they all have a good idea of what I'm going to say.

My voice is shaky when I say, "Two years ago, my dad found out that I'd asked a boy to the Sadie Hawkins dance at my old school. He told me that if he ever found out I was with another boy, he'd kill me."

A couple of people shudder.

I say, "He'd never once laid a finger on me, but I knew he meant what he said. So I made sure to be very careful about everything I did and said around him. Still, it's not like I was going to go back into the closet."

They all wait for me to explain the bruises. I say, "Then sometime this past fall, Dad realized that his intimidation tactics and emotional abuse weren't proving effective in making me straight. So he started hitting me."

Everyone seems to breathe in a little when I say the words. I say, "I don't think I ever fully processed what was happening to me. I mean, I've dealt with plenty of bullies in my life. I've been beat up a few times. When it started happening at home, I just pretended it wasn't real. I convinced myself that it wasn't going to happen again, or that I was strong enough to take it."

I say, "But my dad hurt me bad. I had lots of bruises. I even had a concussion in December. So people started asking questions, and I started lying. And then everything started to get out of control until I just couldn't stop lying."

"Finally, some people who care about me got me to admit and face up to what was happening. I was packing my stuff to move out on Wednesday night when my dad came home and found me running away. He…" I trail off, and point to my bruises. "Well, he did this to me. And then told me never to set foot in his house again. So I'm living at Kurt and Finn's house now."

I shrug, looking out at my friends, most of whom are trying not to cry and look like they're holding themselves back from coming up to hug me.

I'm proud of myself for holding it together and not crying, but I feel panicky and weird.

Like I've said too much.

Or I've said too little.

Or I've told it all wrong.

They can't possibly understand what I want to express.

I wish I could take everything I said back and start over, but I can't.

So I say, "Puck and I are telling you guys these stories because we want to help make sure that nobody else has to go through what we went through."

Puck nods. "Unless you've been there, I don't know if you can understand the helplessness and denial and crazy excuses. But trust me, no matter how much you think you love someone, if they're hurting you, you have to get out of that relationship, no matter what."

I say, "And if you think someone you know is going through it, you have to ask them the question. If my friends hadn't helped me, I have no idea where I would be right now."

Everyone stares at us, nodding, but you can tell that they don't want to hear our pep talk; they just want to hug us and tell us how much they love us.

I'd imagined this being so much more inspirational.

Puck says, "Blaine's a total bad-ass, so he's going to be okay. He's going to get his dad convicted and find justice. But I put up with abuse for _years_ before I had the guts to do anything about it. It took me even more years to tell anyone else about it. This shit is fucked up. And if telling our stories can raise enough awareness to help save anyone from going through it too, then it's worth it. Keep your eyes open. If it can happen to me and Blaine, it can happen to anyone."

Everyone nods. Literally everyone is crying now, and it's making me really uncomfortable. I just want this to be over.

They seem to want it to be over too. They can't contain themselves any longer; everyone moves in for a group hug.

I don't want the group hug to ever end.


	64. I feel a little bit sick

I haven't heard from my Dad since I left his house, but I've heard from Jane, the investigator assigned to my case, that my dad spent two nights in jail, denied all charges, and got out on bail a couple of days ago. They're trying to track down my dad's former wives to ask questions, so I have to make sure Mom hears about this from me first.

Her doctor tells me that it would actually probably do my mom a lot of good to learn that I'm out of my dad's house and that some sort of justice is finally being sought for against my dad.

Kurt comes with me when I go and visit her for the first time since I left dad's house. My bruises have faded, but they're still visible and startling, and I need moral support to face my mother looking like this. I need moral support to finally talk to my mom about what we've been skirting around for weeks.

Or maybe even years.

Kurt is very quiet in the car as we drive to her facility. I try to make casual conversation to keep us both calm about what we're about to tell my mother, but he doesn't respond more than a few words at a time.

"You alright?" I ask, "You don't have to come if this is making you uncomfortable."

He says, "No, no. I'm glad you asked me to come. I just have a splitting headache."

I see how pale and clammy he looks as soon as he mentions the headache, and my heart goes out to him. "Aw. Sweetie, if you're sick, you should be resting."

He says, "It's nothing. I took some aspirin. It'll kick in soon."

I frown. "Are you sure? You look pale."

"Don't worry about me," Kurt says, "Come on. Just focus on what you're going to tell your mom."

I kind of resent the fact that he wants to make everything about me. He needs to take care of himself too.

But we're pulling up to the care facility, and I let him divert my attention to the conversation we're about to have with my mom.

She's sitting at the piano in the rec room as usual, staring at the keys without touching a single one.

I've never asked her why she doesn't play anymore.

"Sweetie!" It takes her less time than usual to pull her attention away from whatever goes through her head when she stares at the piano, and refocus on me. She gives me a big hug and then studies my bruises carefully with no expression on her face.

She pulls my collar down to get a good look at the bruises on my neck. Her eyes and mouth don't move. She turns to Kurt. "Hi hon. How're you today?"

Kurt glances at me, as if looking for reassurance that it's okay to talk to her. He's usually very sure of himself, but here he's clearly intensely uncomfortable.

I smile at him and nod. Kurt says, "I'm good. How're you?"

She takes his hand and leads him away from the piano and towards the couches in the corner. I follow them and we all sit down. Mom confides in Kurt as though I'm not even there. She says, "I'm worried about Blaine. Have you seen his bruises?"

Kurt's eyes are wide and filling with nervous tears, and they lock into mine as he says, "Yeah. It's a sad story. You should ask him about it."

Mom says, "I don't know if he wants to tell me. He thinks I'm fragile, you know. Doesn't like to tell me about the bad stuff in his life. But tell me this—is he safe now?"

She's still gripping his hand, and he's gripping in back. He says, "Yes. He's very safe now. We'll make sure nobody ever hurts him again, okay?"

Mom nods. I sit across from them and wonder if I should say something.

But Mom says, "Is he pressing charges? Against Rick?"

So of course Mom knows exactly what happened.

Kurt gives me a desperate questioning look, and I nod quietly at him. Kurt says, "Yes. He was arrested on Friday, but he's out on bail now. There'll be a trial sometime this year."

Mom nods and lets go of Kurt's hand very suddenly, still showing no evidence of any emotion in her face. She says, "And I suppose they'll want to talk to me."

Kurt nods. "They will."

She swallows. "Okay", she says, "I can do that."

And then without any warning, she turns away from Kurt and launches herself at me, wrapping her arms around me and giving me a big kiss on the cheek, laughing and crying simultaneously. "Oh Blaine," she says, "I'm so glad you're safe. I've been worried sick for years. Are you living somewhere else now?"

I blink a few times, entirely unable to process the emotional avalanche I'm currently under. I can't speak.

Kurt says, "He's living with me and my family."

Mom kisses me again and then pulls out to study my face. She's smiling widely, and I think I'm in shock. She says, "Good. That's where you need to be. Sweetie, I'm so proud of you. You'll make sure he pays for what he's done. I'm so proud."

I feel a little bit sick, but it's not a headache like Kurt. I don't know what it is. I just feel like I'd rather be anywhere else. And I've never been anything but glad to be with my mother when she's happy and lucid like she is today.

I whisper, "I know, Mom."

She says, "I love you, Blaine."

We hug for a long time.


	65. It just sucks

When Kurt and I get back to my car, he's trying not to cry, and I'm just sort of numb.

I try to open my car door with my bad hand, and it immediately coils up in an excruciating, electric cramp. I swear and open the door with my other hand. I get into the car, grimacing with the pain and trying to get some control back over my usually functioning fingers. They're seized up tight with waves of pain shooting through them, and I don't want to deal with the fact that this is starting to happen more and more often.

Kurt mistakes my agony for being upset about my mom, and he hugs me from the passenger seat. "Hey," he says, "That didn't go too bad, did it?"

I ignore my hand and hug him back. "No," I say, "She took it well, I think. It just freaked me out when she acted like I wasn't even there."

Kurt nods slowly, biting his lip to fight his tears. "I think that was just her way to slowing down the emotions. She wasn't ready to hear it from you, so she decided that she was going to hear it from me. But you could tell she knew exactly what was going on as soon as she saw your face."

"Yeah," I smooth out my hair. "I know. My mom's a smart lady."

He can sense a bit of anger or resentment in my voice, and he says, "She is. But she's also very sick, Blaine. You know that. Don't blame her for this."

It's like he's reading my mind. I love him for it. "I know," I say, "I know this isn't her fault. But from how she acted today, you know that she's always known how volatile Dad is. She's always known that I wasn't safe in that house."

I shudder. He gives me a searching, empathetic look. "I know Mom's got problems that I'm afraid to even ask questions about. I know it would have been anything but easy for her to do anything about it, but it still… I dunno. It just sucks, I guess."

Kurt nods. "It does suck. And I'm so sorry."

He looks exhausted. His eyebrows are pinched together and his forehead is wrinkled and I can tell that his head is killing him. I say, "I'm sorry, sweetie. You're not feeling well. Let's go home."

"We can talk for as long as you need to, Blaine. I'm fine."

I say, "Honestly, I'm sick of talking about this. What happened happened. Let's just move on, okay? Let's just take a couple of days off from talking about my family. Can we do that?"

Kurt smiles tiredly. "I don't know, Blaine. But we can certainly try."

I kiss him. "Let's get you home."


	66. Your fucking dreams are coming true

When Kurt comes downstairs for breakfast this morning, I can tell that he feels like crap, but he's dressed to the nines and ready for school anyway.

"Morning sweetie," Carole says.

He responds to her by sneezing twice and groaning. He goes to the tissue box by the microwave and blows his nose.

"Are you coming down with something?" Kurt's step-mom asks, frowning in concern.

Kurt sneezes again and sits down at the kitchen table with the tissue box in his hand. He nods.

I say, "He had a headache last night. You should skip school today, Kurt."

Carole agrees. "Go back to bed, sweetie. I'll make you some tea."

Kurt's not the kind of guy who admits defeat easily, but he doesn't even argue. He just nods and says nothing.

I say, "Maybe I should stay home too. I can make sure he's okay."

Finn says, "No way, Blaine. You already missed two glee rehearsals last week, and we've got Regionals in three weeks. Kurt'll be okay. Right Kurt?"

My boyfriend nods, and his dad says, "I'll call every hour. Just sleep it off, okay, Kurt?"

He nods again, and sneezes three more times. He looks so helpless and miserable that it's both heartbreaking and adorable. I give him a big hug. "I'll see you after school, okay? Get better."

He says, "I'll try. Pick up my homework for me?"

His voice is so hoarse that he barely sounds like himself. I say, "Of course. Just get some rest, okay?"

In rehearsal, Rachel is not happy that Kurt is missing. She says, "We're three weeks away from Regionals, guys. We need all hands on deck at all times."

"Kurt's really sick," Finn defends him, "He wouldn't have been able to participate anyway."

I add, "He could barely talk this morning."

Mr. Schue seems to agree with Rachel. He says, "He could still be here to watch and listen. We all need to keep up."

I say, "I'll teach him everything he missed tonight. It'll be fine. It's better than him infecting the whole choir, right?"

Rachel says, "Did this thing Kurt has start out with a headache?"

I nod. Rachel says, "And then it turned into a stuffy nose and sore throat?"

I nod again. She says, "I had that on the weekend. Half the senior class has had it. It's brutal, but it's quick."

I gape at her. She says, "He'll feel like he's about to die today, but by tomorrow, the only remnant will be a bit of a cough. There's no point in trying to prevent its spread; it's all over the school. Better we all get sick and get over it now than draw it out over three weeks so someone can't perform at Regionals."

Everyone turns to Mr. Schue to see his response. Our director is a great man and one of the most compassionate teachers I've ever met, but he's fiercely competitive about glee. He gives us an apologetic shrug, and says, "I'm sorry guys, but Rachel's right. We can't keep waiting for people who miss practice to keep up. No more missing practice unless you're dead or in the hospital, okay?"

We all nod. I feel bad for Kurt, and hope that Rachel's right about how quickly he's going to feel better.

When I get home after school, Kurt is lying on the couch surrounded by tissues, but he's in high spirits. When he sees me walk in, he sits up immediately. "Guess what came in the mail today?" he asks. His voice sounds better, but he starts coughing as soon as he speaks, and it's a deep, chesty cough that puts my hair on end.

"What is it?" I ask, pushing some of his tissues into the garbage and sitting down on the couch next to him, rubbing his back.

He passes me an envelope and coughs some more. I open it up. It's an early acceptance letter from NYU's musical theatre department.

"They don't even want me to audition," Kurt tells me, "Because the dean of the department saw me perform at Nationals last year. I'm in!"

I hug him and congratulate him, but my stomach is sinking. He's really leaving Lima. I ask, "What about NYADA?"

"I haven't heard anything," Kurt says, "But no matter what happens, I'm going to New York. Can you believe it?"

He starts coughing again, and I rub his back some more. His chest is congested and his coughs are grating. I say, "That's amazing, Kurt. I knew you'd get in. You're amazing." I kiss him.

He says, "Don't kiss me. You'll get sick too."

I shrug. "I don't care. I'm so proud of you. How're you feeling?"

Kurt coughs. "Better, I guess. Or different, anyway. This bug is weird. It just keeps working it's way down. Started in my head, then moved to my sinuses, then my throat… now my lungs. I just hope it doesn't go any further down."

"From what I've heard, it stops there," I reassure him, "Rachel said she had it. You should feel better by morning."

He coughs again and says, "I sure hope so. This cough is horrible."

I ask, "Have you taken anything for it? I could go get you some cough syrup if you want."

"I took some," he says, "It's not helping. I'll just tough it out."

Nodding, I say, "Okay. Well we should celebrate. You got into NYU!"

I suddenly wonder if it will be okay for me to still live here when Kurt and Finn are both away for college.

Kurt hugs me. "Aw. Sweetie, I know you're bummed that you're not coming with me. But it'll only be a year. Less than a year, if you come out for the summer. We'll see each other."

I shake my head. "Don't even worry about me. This is about you. Your fucking dreams are coming true, Kurt."

I pause, and say, "You know, I might go to LA for senior year. I could live with Cooper."

I hadn't even realized that I was planning that until I say it, but it feels so right.

His jaw drops a little. "Wow. Are you serious?"

I say, "I guess. I don't know. I mean, what'll I have left in Ohio once you're gone?"

"Your mother?" He coughs and winces, trying to halt the coughs unsuccessfully.

I rub his back and wait for the coughs to stop. "Do you want some water?"

He nods, and I go to the kitchen to get him a glass. My head is spinning a little. I've been so preoccupied with the drama going on right now that I've completely neglected to consider what's going to happen in six months when Kurt leaves Lima forever. Santana's graduating too. So's Finn. I have other friends at McKinley and at Dalton, but I don't know if I really want to go through another year here. I don't know if I can handle Lima, Ohio without Kurt Hummel anymore.

But I love my mom from the bottom of my heart, and I don't want to abandon her like everyone else in her life.

I pass Kurt the glass of water, and he chokes some of it down. "Blaine, you know that my dad and Carole won't kick you out once me and Finn are gone, right? You'll always be welcome here."

I shudder. "And what if the long distance thing doesn't work out between us, Kurt?"

He grips my hand. "Don't talk like that. You're my everything. We can do long distance."

I say, "Nobody can predict the future, Kurt. I think that staying here after you're gone will just make missing you unbearable. But you're right. I can't abandon my mom."

He kisses me, apparently forgetting about his desire not to get me sick. "We'll figure it out, Blaine. If you want to go to LA, maybe you can move your mom there too."

I don't know how well my mom could adjust to a move, but I nod. "I'll think about it," I say, "Fuck, Kurt. I never realized how soon it is that you're going to be leaving. This sucks."

He says, "I know. But we'll be okay, right? Promise me we'll both make a real effort to make it work."

I nod. "Of course. I'm sorry. We're supposed to excited for you, and I'm making everything about me again."

He coughs. "No," he says, "It's important that we talk about this. I love you. But yeah. Let's just be excited for me for a few moments, okay?"

I hug him. "New York is going to be amazing for you," I say, "You're going to be great."

He smiles. "I can't believe it's really going to happen."


	67. Straight people care about what happened

Rachel was right; by morning, Kurt is feeling a hundred times better. He's still coughing a little, but it's a dry cough now, and his lungs sound clear and healthy.

Both Carole and Burt have come down with the same bug overnight, though, and they both stay home from work. When Kurt, Finn, and I get home from rehearsal, they're trying to make supper.

"No no no," Kurt says, "You guys sit down. We'll finish cooking. Jesus. You're going to contaminate the food."

They sit down, and Finn and Kurt take over in the kitchen. I've never cooked anything in my life, and they're trying to put together some sort of pasta concoction. I don't know what to do to help.

"Here," says Finn, grabbing a stack of plates from the cupboard, "You can set the table, Blaine."

I reach out to grab the plates without thinking, and promptly drop the entire stack on the floor as my damaged fingers buckle under the weight.

The plates shatter all over the floor.

Kurt screams, and Finn gasps. I grimace and jump back, swearing. "Fuck! Sorry, sorry, sorry. Jesus." I can't believe I just did that. I look at Carole and Burt, who are both grimacing and too tired to move.

"I'm so sorry," I say, squeezing my bad hand with my good hand. Waves of pain are shooting through it once again, and I want to double over in agony until it stops, but I have to figure out how to make it okay that I've just smashed five of my boyfriend's step-mother's plates all over their kitchen floor.

Kurt immediately tiptoes through the shattered glass to get a broom. Finn says, "Shit! I thought you had them! Sorry, Mom!"

Carole says, "Not to worry. I never liked those plates anyway."

I'm sure she's just saying that to make me feel better, but I'm grateful. I say, "I'll pay for new ones. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, sweetie." Carole coughs. "Nothing to worry about."

Burt says hoarsely, "Just get away from that glass. Let's clean this up."

Finn, Carole, Burt, and I watch Kurt sweep up the broken plates, and Finn says again, "I thought you had them. That was totally my fault."

I don't know how to admit what really happened, but Kurt catches my eye and I give him silent permission to tell them for me.

Kurt says, "It's nobody's fault. Blaine's got a bad hand. He can't lift stuff with it. But he wasn't thinking, right, Blaine?"

I nod with a sheepish grin. I'm still massaging my knuckles, trying to get my nerves to stop freaking out.

Everyone turns their attention towards my hands. "What's wrong with your hand?" asks Finn, raising an eyebrow.

I make a face and stop massaging it. "Uh… it's… I have some nerve damage from an old injury," I say, "So yeah. I shouldn't have taken the plates from you. I wasn't thinking."

Carole asks, "What kind of damage, Blaine?"

She's a mother and a nurse, so of course she's going to be curious. Even my good fingers are still so seized up that I can't move them, but I hold up my hand to show her. "I have no use of the pinkie or ring finger. Only a little movement in the middle. And the pointer and thumb are really weak. They keep seizing up whenever I use them too much."

Finn looks taken aback. "Seriously?" he asks, "What happened? I can't believe I didn't know that."

He stares at my hand as though it's something weird and sentient.

I start massaging my hand. "It's not a big deal."

"How'd it happen, Blaine?" Burt asks, obviously concerned.

"Uh… freshmen year, I got beat up by a bunch of guys for… you know… being gay and stuff. One guy stood on my hands and crushed all the bones and tore all of the ligaments and tendons and whatever."

Finn, Carole, and Burt all grimace and get that guilty, sympathetic look that straight people always get when they hear about hate crimes like that.

Burt starts coughing, and Carole rubs his back the same way I rubbed Kurt's yesterday. Finn says, "Dude, that's fucking bullshit." He looks up at his mom when he swears with a guilty look, but she doesn't care. She's coughing now too.

Finn says, "It's permanently damaged?"

Kurt dumps the last of the glass out of the dust pan and into the trash. "Both his hands are," he says, "Just one a lot more than the other. Blaine used to be an amazing violin player. It _is _bullshit."

I say, "Well, they all paid fines and did community service for it. I took them to court and everything. It was a long time ago."

Finn says, "Well it's not fair. You have to live with those injuries for the rest of your life, just because some homophobic assholes couldn't deal with who you were."

Homophobic assholes who were once my best friends.

We get out new plates and eat our dinner, discussing gay rights and the injustice of what Kurt and I go through for the entire meal.

Some people have told me that it took Finn a long time to be comfortable with Kurt's sexuality, but he's obviously fine with it now.

It's touching to see how much this whole family cares about each other and the struggles they each face. I almost start to cry, realizing that I'm one of them now.

Seeing how enraged they are by something that only embarrassed my own father. The assault was almost two years ago, and this is the first time that I've really felt like straight people care about what happened.


	68. After what you've been through

Almost half of the glee club is sick now, but we're pushing through rehearsals anyway. Some people sit out because they're too hoarse to sing or coughing too hard to dance, but we keep rehearsing. Two hours a day. It's exhilarating. It feels great to pour so much energy into something. There's no way we're not going to win Regionals. There's no way we're not going to go to Nationals.

The Warblers never worked this hard.

After rehearsal today, Kurt and I go for coffee with Rachel and Finn. Finn's been sick since yesterday, and I think it's hit him harder than anyone else. He's miserable, but unwilling to let his girlfriend down. Rachel really wants coffee. She wants to talk to all of us.

We sit at a small table in the corner of the coffee shop, and Rachel says, "Blaine, I wanted you to know that that song you and Puck sang for us was devastatingly good."

Kurt squeezes my hand, and Finn nods. I say, "Thanks." But I really don't want to talk about this anymore.

Rachel says, "I had no idea you were a songwriter. We did original songs at Regionals last year, you know, but nothing we came up with was like that."

I tell Rachel, "I'm glad you liked it."

She says, "My dads are hosting a gala at the casino in April. It's to raise money to support gay hate crime victims. If you're comfortable with it, they'd love for you to perform that song at it."

I have a headache, and performing that song again seems exhausting.

Finn starts coughing, and I don't answer. Rachel looks uncertain. Kurt says, "That's a really emotional song for him, Rachel. I don't know…"

Rachel says, "It's a song that could help a lot of people. Blaine, it made everyone in glee club cry. And I think it's perfect for this event. Will you do it?"

I say, "I… yeah, I guess so. But… I mean… well… yeah, I'll do it."

Kurt says, "You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with, Blaine."

I say, "No, it's good. I want to do it. It's a good cause. It's a very good cause."

Rachel nods. "And I think you're the perfect person to perform at it, after what you've been through."

I wonder if she's talking about my dad, of if she knows about what happened at Bellville. But I don't look at either Finn or Kurt for an indication. I just say, "I'll sing the song, but I'm not going to tell my story, Rachel. I'm not ready for that."

She looks disappointed, but she nods. "Okay. That's fine. My dads will be pleased."

Kurt squeezes my hand and kisses me. Finn coughs some more. He sounds terrible. I can see him getting more and more tired each time his chest heaves with another grating, whistling cough.

Rachel rubs his shoulders. "Aw, sweetie," she says, "You sound awful."

He groans. "It hurts to breathe," he says. "I think I'm dying."

I can hear how laboured his breathing really is and my heart goes out to him. "Here," I say, pulling my inhaler from my pocket, "Try this."

He takes it from me skeptically. "Will it help?"

I say, "It can't hurt. You sound like you have pneumonia or something."

Finn groans and says, "Don't even say that." He looks at the inhaler. "How does this work?"

I say, "Just shake it, take off the cap, put it to your mouth, and press the button. Try to hold the meds in your lungs as long as you can."

Rachel says, "I don't know if it's a good idea for you to use someone else' prescription, Finn."

He says, "I'm willing to try anything right now, Rachel." He starts coughing again and leans back in his chair while he waits for the fit to pass.

Grimacing, Rachel says, "Okay, yeah. That really doesn't sound good."

Finn nods. He takes the cap off of my inhaler, shakes it, and takes a long inhale. He holds his breathe for a while, and then exhales, coughing some more.

Rachel looks apprehensive. "Did it help?" she asks.

Shrugging, Finn says, "I don't know. Nothing feels different."

I say, "Give it a couple of minutes."

He passes me my inhaler back, and Kurt says, "You should disinfect that before you use it, Blaine. If this bug is so hard on Finn, I'd hate to see what it'd do to you."

I nod, but I already have a headache, so I suspect it's a little too late for me to avoid germs.

Rachel says, "I still think it's stupid for you to share your prescription, Blaine. What if he has a reaction to it?"

"Rachel, he's miserable. I'm just trying to help," I say.

Finn says, "And it is helping." He coughs, and it sounds remarkably less painful than before. "Do you hear that? I can breathe again! Fuck, Blaine. That shit is magic."

Kurt grins. "See? Blaine's a hero."

Scowling, Rachel says, "Fine. But at any rate, you should be in bed, Finn. Come on. You'll feel much better in the morning."

Finn nods and lets Rachel take him home.


	69. I don't want to ever move from this spot

In the morning, I feel like hell. I don't know how everyone has made themselves come to school with this bug, because I can barely make myself sit up.

I'm so stuffed up I feel like my eyes are the only part of my head that works. I can barely hear, smell, or taste anything. Every muscle in my body is aching, and my throat is so sore that I feel like it's going to start bleeding any second.

"Shit," Kurt says when he sees me dragging myself up the stairs in the morning. "You're sick, huh?"

I nod miserably, and sit down at the breakfast table. I put my head down and moan.

"Aw. Come on sweetie. I'll make you some tea." Carole pulls me back upright. "And maybe some oatmeal?"

I sneeze and it hurts more than I knew was possible, and nod at Finn's mom.

Kurt kisses my cheek. "I'll get you cold meds," he says, "You just have to get through today, and tomorrow you'll feel better."

Finn comes downstairs at that moment. He looks much better. "How're _you_ doing, sweetie?" Carole asks.

He says, "I feel almost normal. It's crazy. I've never been so grateful to be healthy."

Carole nods, pouring hot water over a tea bag for me. "This bug is intense. I'm just glad it's short-lived."

Finn catches sight of me, and says, "Shit, do you have it now, too?"

Kurt says, "He sure does."

"Skip school," Finn advises, "Just show up for glee at three-thirty. You don't want to sit through school feeling like that."

I want to take his advice, but and if I'm going to have to go to school for glee, I might as well go for the whole day and save myself the stress of having to catch up later.

Kurt says, "We're supposed to meet Blaine's lawyer today at lunch, Finn, remember? For the interview?"

I groan. She wants to hear Kurt and Finn's perspective of what they saw me go through. I can't be in the room for the interview, so I'll have to spend my lunch hour without Kurt. I don't think I have the energy to put on a brave face for anyone else today.

Finn says, "Oh yeah. Shit. Okay."

Carole gives me my tea and I sneeze again. "You really should stay home at least for the morning," she says, "You're not going to retain anything from your classes feeling like that anyway."

I nod. It hurts to move my head. I'm not brave enough to say anything out loud. It hurts even to swallow the tea.

I don't want to ever move from this very spot.

But I find myself fast asleep on the couch hours later, and I don't know how I got there. I can already feel the bug migrating from my head to my chest. My ears and nose aren't blocked anymore, but my throat somehow hurts worse, and I start coughing as soon as I sit up.

I'm glad that nobody else is home to hear me whimper. It's three o'clock. I have to get to glee rehearsal or face the wrath of Rachel and Mr. Schue. My muscles don't feel nearly as sore as they did this morning though, so it's much easier to get up. If only I could stop coughing.

Kurt is waiting for me in the choir room with a tub of ice cream, a bottle of Buckley's, and a big hug. "Feeling any better?" he asks.

I cough in response. He laughs. "Aw. I know. It's hell."

"How was the meeting with the lawyer?" I croak.

But Kurt doesn't have a chance to respond, because Mr. Schue enters the room and calls for all of our attention. Today is strictly a vocal rehearsal. No dancing necessary.

We begin the warm up, and Mr. Schue calls me out for not participating. "Blaine? You're not singing."

"He's sick," Kurt says promptly.

I nod to confirm, and croak, "Sorry. It hurts." Talking makes me start to cough, and my cough sounds terrible enough that Mr. Schue leaves me alone for the rest of the rehearsal. I listen and make note of the advice Mr. Schue gives everyone, and try not to disrupt everyone too much with my incessant coughing.

At this point, I think that Mr. Schue, Artie, and Santana are the only ones who haven't had this bug, so everyone is very sympathetic and understanding of how much like death I feel.

It's weird to think how uncomfortable I felt around all of these people back in September compared to now. It's okay for them all to see me so sickly and pathetic. We're family.

I don't think I ever felt that way about the Warblers.

I don't think I've ever felt that way about any group of people in my whole life.

If I didn't feel so terrible, it might be wonderful.

The sickness has journeyed even deeper into my lungs by the time rehearsal is over, and my throat is already starting to feel better, especially after the ice cream Kurt brought me.

People are very right about how quickly this thing progresses. I'm sure I'll feel fine by nightfall. But I can't think of anything worse for a guy as asthmatic as I am than a deep, intrusive, chest cold. I think everyone in the room can hear how painful it is for me breathe right now.

"So how was the thing with the lawyer?" I ask Kurt again as he follows me out to my car.

He shrugs. "It was fine. A little weird. She just asked us when we started suspect things. You know, what warning signs we saw and stuff. She was very thorough."

I grimace. "I'm sorry you have to go… through that." I can't even get through a sentence without stopping to try and catch my breath.

"Don't apologize," he says, shaking his head, "I'm glad to do it. I'm so proud of you for this."

I honestly am starting to feel like it was a mistake to report my dad to the police. Like this whole thing has been blown out of proportion, and I'm just being a baby, dragging everyone through it with me.

But there's no backing out now, so I just kiss Kurt. "Thank you. When I feel better, I'll take both you and Finn out for dinner or something as a thank you."

I start coughing again, and Kurt laughs sympathetically. "Aw. You need to take your inhaler, Blaine."

I stick out my tongue and take a deep, wheezing breath. "No shit," I say.

We're at my car. He says, "Give me your keys. I'm driving."

I nod, and get into the passenger seat and take a couple of puffs from my inhaler.

He says, "We're just going to snuggle and do nothing tonight, okay? You need rest."

I'm not going to argue with that.

We spend the night curled up in his room, talking and snuggling and watching the fashion channel while Kurt pampers and spoils me while I try not to completely turn him off with my endless coughing and wheezing.


	70. Let's never speak of this again

I wake up about six times throughout the night barely breathing. I use my inhaler so many times that I start to feel nauseous from all of the medication.

When my alarm goes off for school in the morning, I expect to be feeling better, but I don't. Not really. I feel different, but not better. My lungs don't feel like I'm drowning anymore; they just feel like they have rocks in them. My coughs are still just as painful, but they sound deeper and they're less frequent.

Everyone else was better within twenty-four hours, so I resent the fact that I'm still sick. But I'm sure it'll be over soon, so I get ready for school and hope for the best. It's Friday. I can sleep all weekend if I have to.

Kurt and I leave for school together, and he hears me coughing when we get into my car. "Are you still sick?" he asks, frowning.

I nod, and realize that I left my inhaler on my nightstand. "A little," I admit. "I should go grab my inhaler."

He rolls his eyes teasingly. "No kidding. Hurry."

I go back to the house and open the front door.

Before I can close the door, I hear my name being said in the kitchen. I freeze. Carole and Burt are talking about me, and they don't know I'm here.

"You know they've got to be sexually active by now, Burt. It's been almost a year."

Burt's voice says, "Yeah, I know."

"And you're really okay knowing that those boys are living under the same roof, spending time in each others' rooms…"

"God, no," Burt says, "I'll never be comfortable with my little boy having sex with anyone."

I feel myself blushing. Carole says, "Well you should talk to him about it."

Burt asks, "Why? What's the harm in it, Carole? They're teenagers. They're going to have sex."

She says, "Yeah, but that doesn't mean that they _should_ be."

"Why not? You said it yourself. They've been together for a year. They're dedicated to each other. They love each other. There's no risk of pregnancy, Carole. Sex doesn't have to be taboo, not even for teenager."

She sighs. "I guess you're right. I just have a hard time wrapping my head around our babies being old enough to… well."

Burt says, "I know. It's weird. I never dreamed that I'd have to worry about my son living under the same roof as his boyfriend. But Blaine _saved_ Kurt's life last year, Carole. I'll do anything to make sure he's okay. And if that means letting him live here and making it easy for he and Kurt to get intimate whenever they want, then I have to be okay with that."

I feel like laughing or crying or freaking out, but instead I close the door loudly and start coughing, acting like I've just walked in and haven't heard a word. I walk quickly through the kitchen to the stairs to the basement.

Carole and Burt both look a little embarrassed to see me, but I don't think they have any idea that I've heard anything. "I thought you'd left, Blaine, what's up?" Burt asks.

I cough again, and say, "I forgot my inhaler. Sorry. I'm just going to go grab it."

They don't say anything as I rush downstairs, but when I come back up, coughing harshly, Burt frowns. "You're asthmatic, Blaine?"

I nod, putting my shoes back on. "Yeah."

I'm wheezing, but I pretend that I don't notice and hope that they don't either. Burt says, "You don't sound well, Blaine. Should you be going to school?"

I say, "I'm good. I should be over this bug soon, right?"

Carole and Burt nod, but they look concerned. I say, "Don't worry. I plan on taking it easy today. I'll see you tonight, alright?"

We have a Friday night family movie night planned. I think it's pretty cool that Finn and Kurt are seniors in high school, but they still like their parents enough to agree to cheesy, wonderful stuff like that.

I go back out to the car, letting myself laugh once I'm out of the house.

"What's so funny?" asks Kurt as I start the engine.

"I just overheard your Dad and Carole…" I trail off to cough. Kurt winces at the sound. "I heard them discussing our probable sex life."

Kurt gasps and turns beet red, giggling too. "Oh my _god_," he says, "That's so embarrassing. What were they saying?"

I'm still trying to stop coughing, but I'm laughing at the same time, which makes it worse. Kurt, still giggling, makes me switch seats with him so he can drive while I collect myself. Finally, I'm able to recount the conversation to my boyfriend.

He can't stop giggling, and I'm trying not to giggle too, because I don't want another coughing fit. "Oh my god," he says, "I don't know if I'll be able to look my dad in the eye again."

I say, "I thought he was pretty cool about it, though. Major kudos."

He nods, still giggling and almost crying. "He's awesome. But I do not want to think about my dad thinking about us having sex. Let's never speak of this again."

I agree.


	71. Your luck is crap

Our calculus teacher is sick and so is half the school's administration, so nobody's bothered to get us a substitute. We sit in class for about fifteen minutes before we realize that no teacher is going to show up, and then we all leave. Quinn and I go to the coffee shop down the street to pass the time until our next class.

"Yikes, Blaine," she says when I cough for the entire walk across the street. "You're going to lose a lung if you keep that up."

I groan. "Tell me about it."

She says, "Aw. I'll buy you a drink. You sit down. What do you want?"

"Hot chocolate," I say gratefully, sitting down and trying to catch my breath. We only walked two blocks, but I feel like I just ran a marathon. The air feels like it's just sticking inside my lungs and I can't get it out or any more in. I use my inhaler quickly, and lean back in my chair.

By the time Quinn gets back with our drinks, I'm breathing a little better, but my head feels weird, like it's a balloon that won't deflate. She sits down, and tells me, "I got accepted to Yale."

Wow. My jaw drops, and I grin. "Wow!" I say, "Congratulations, Quinn. Fuck! That's amazing."

She laughs, obviously pleased by my reaction. "Thanks. I'm ecstatic."

I survey her, choking back some coughs. "Wow," I say, "Wow. You're going to Yale. The world is weird."

"No kidding. I don't think Lucy wouldn't believe it if I went back in time and told her."

I remember Lucy Fabray from when I was in first grade and she was in second. It's impossible for me to wrap my head around the fact that that girl is graduating high school and going to Yale.

My boyfriend is graduating and going to New York, but somehow that doesn't hit home quite as much as this. Probably because I've known Quinn longer, or maybe because I love her less.

I say, "I'm proud of you, Quinn. And I hope that you'll let Lucy come out to play sometimes while you're at Yale. "

Quinn laughs. "I don't know if that's possible. But thanks. You know, until you came to McKinley, I didn't think I ever wanted to see her again."

I cough. I cough a lot. She winces and smiles sympathetically. She says, "I blocked Bellville out of my head for a long time. But now I realize that if it weren't for Lucy and what happened to her at Bellville, I'd never have had the strength to go through what I've been through since I left."

I frown. I don't know very much about Quinn Fabray except that she had pink hair at the beginning of term, and now she's blonde. I want to ask, but I just cough instead.

Quinn frowns, and says, "You don't know, do you?"

I shrug sheepishly, and I say, "I'm the new kid, Quinn. Is there something I should know?"

She says, "Sophomore year, I was dating Finn Hudson."

I blink. Somehow, I'd always just thought that Finn and Rachel had been together forever. She continues, "But I cheated on him. With Noah Puckerman."

"Wow." I hadn't expected that, but somehow I'm not really surprised.

She nods. "Yeah. And he knocked me up. I had my baby right after Regionals two years ago."

My jaw drops. Now that does surprise me. "_What?_ You're kidding me."

Quinn looks delighted by my surprise. "I can't believe you didn't know that," she says, "I thought that everyone knew."

I'm actually delighted that I didn't know, too. It gives me hope for humanity that nobody gossiped. I sip my hot chocolate and study her. "Wow."

"My dad disowned me for it, you know," she says, "I know that's nothing like what you went through with your dad, but I know how much it hurts to know that your own father doesn't love you. And I'm really sorry, Blaine."

I feel like hugging her, but I can't stop coughing for more than about thirty seconds, and I don't think she wants to get near me. I say, "I'm sorry too, Quinn. That sucks."

She shrugs. "I'm stronger for it. I got into Yale. You can get past a shitty childhood. All you have to do is survive."

I smile. "True enough."

"But enough about me. Blaine, I've told you what happened to Lucy. But I want to know what ever happened to the Blaine Anderson I used to know at Bellville. You were the violin master. Whatever happened to that? And what about what's-his-name—your best friend—Jackson? You two used to be attached at the hip. You used to be… I dunno. Different."

I cough. "Jackson and some other guys beat the crap out of me when they found out I was gay. I haven't really talked to him since."

Quinn looks taken aback. "No way. Jackson? Fucking hell. That's… that's fucking not okay."

Nodding I say, "Tell me about it. And I haven't really played violin since then either, because when they beat me up, they stood on my hands and damaged them so permanently that I can barely hold a bow straight."

Quinn puts down her coffee and swears again. "Well fuck. That's… oh my god. That makes me… so mad. And sad. And… Jesus fucking Christ. That's awful. You were a magnificent violinist. I thought you'd be playing with some world-class orchestra or something by now. Jackson really did that to you?"

I nod and cough and wonder why I didn't have people in my life who gave a crap when it actually happened.

She says, "That's just not fair. Blaine… I mean, I knew that something bad must have happened for you to ever leave Bellville, but I had no idea it was… something like that."

I say, "It's okay. I mean, it's not okay, and I'm angry every day because I lost my violin career, but… I mean… life goes on."

I start coughing again, and she says, "You should be in bed, Blaine. That cough sounds terrible."

"I know. I thought it would be over by now. Everyone else got better in a day, right?"

She says, "Yeah. But your luck is crap, Blaine."

I laugh, regretting it when it just makes me cough more. "True enough," I say, "True enough.


	72. It wasn't just magic

Regionals are a week and a half away now, and since I sat out of rehearsal yesterday, I feel obligated to participate today. Nobody else who got sick missed more than one day.

We're working on choreography today, so at least I don't have to sing. But I still feel like I have rocks in my lungs, so dancing is kind of hell-on-earth.

Brittany says, "Is there a kitty in here? I hear meowing."

Everyone stops dancing momentarily to listen, and they all seem to hear it too. I can't hear anything.

Rachel says, "Where is that coming from? Here kitty kitty…"

Everyone starts looking under chairs for a cat, and then Santana starts laughing.

"It's not a cat," she says, stopping beside me, "That's just Blaine wheezing."

I freeze and take a few breaths to test this theory. My lungs are tight and tired, and the way the air is grating in and out of them does give off a high-pitched wheeze that sounds remarkably like a kitten meowing.

Santana and I both burst out laughing, but everyone else seems really concerned, especially when laughing makes me start to cough, and my coughs betray how clamped up and congested my lungs are.

Kurt says, "Oh my God, Blaine." He sounds a little annoyed, but mostly concerned. "You shouldn't be dancing. Sit down."

I roll my eyes, but I do as I'm told. "You're still sick?" asks Mr. Schue, "Blaine, you should see a doctor. You should be over this by now."

Defensively, I say, "It's only been two days. I'll rest all weekend and be fine."

But I sit out the rest of the rehearsal with Artie, who's sick too.

I try to use my inhaler, but my hand starts seizing up when I press the pump, and I drop it on the floor, much to my embarrassment. Artie picks it up for me as I wait out the agony of the muscle spasms and random nerve firings in my hand. I'm too sick and exhausted to even pretend that it's not unbearable.

Artie asks me about it, so I tell him all about Jackson and the guys attacking me and the resulting injuries.

I don't mention the violin, because Artie's in a wheelchair because of a car accident when he was a kid. It seems insensitive to bring up what I've lost when he's lost so much more.

But Artie doesn't seem to see it that way. He says, "Damn. I've been wondering why you backed out of doing the violin part for Bittersweet Symphony last fall after Quinn insisted that you were so talented. This is why, isn't it?"

I nod wordlessly. He says, "That's rough, Blaine. Were you really as good as Quinn says?" His voice is hoarse and congested and he looks more tired than I feel.

I'd avoided thinking about violin for so long, and now I feel like this conversation just won't stop coming up.

I say, "I was definitely passionate about it. I spent most of my childhood attached to a violin. I was well on the road to being a professional musician."

Artie says, "You know, when I was a kid, I used to be a dancer. I was only eight when I lost the use of my legs, but I was already so sure that I would be a dancer for the rest of my life. And then all of a sudden I couldn't even walk."

I cough and my heart goes out to Artie. "It's a pretty fucked up feeling to realize that the whole future you had planned for yourself has been erased by one stupid injury, isn't it?" I ask.

He nods. "That's what I was going to say."

I feel a little guilty, and I say, "Well. I don't know if it's really fair to compare what happened to me to what happened to you, Artie."

He says, "Sure it is. Blaine, don't do that thing where you make a huge deal about the wheelchair, okay? We both have permanent injuries that got in the way of our dreams. Let's talk about it. I don't meet a lot of people in that boat."

He waits for me to stop coughing again, and then he says, "Did you find that you didn't know who you were without the violin? Because I remember not knowing what to do or how to act once I realized that I couldn't spend all of my time dancing."

I shrug, clearing my throat and taking some deep breaths to try and clear my foggy, exhausted head. I say, "Honestly, after my injuries, my life was this crazy whirlwind of drama and change. I don't think I've ever really fully processed how much losing violin has changed me."

"What do you mean?" Artie asks.

I say, "I dunno. After the attack, I was suicidal, and I was irrational, and I just didn't take the time to fully process anything, because I was so so _so_ angry about everything."

I cough, and he winces. I add, "And then I went through a ton of surgeries and physical therapy, and then the court battle to get a bunch of guy I grew up with and cared about convicted for assaulting me. And then my dad shipped me off to boarding school at Dalton. I joined the Warblers and just pushed everything out of my head."

Artie says, "Hmm. I don't know if that's better or worse than what I went through. After my accident, I had nothing but time to sit around and wallow in the fact that all I could ever do again was sit around. But at least I got to really figure out who I was without dance. You really didn't feel like you had to get to know yourself all over again?"

I frown. "Yeah," I say, "I mean, I've never really thought about it like that, but at Dalton, I definitely went through a transformation. I really figured out who I was and how to be okay with the way the world sees guys like me."

I cough, and Mr. Schue gives me and Artie a look, trying to get us to pay attention to rehearsal.

I lower my voice a little, and say, "When I think about it, I think that part of why Dalton was so important to me was because I'd spent my entire life before that so preoccupied with violin that I'd never really allowed myself to think about anything else."

"That's how I was," Artie nods, "And then you got to Dalton and suddenly had to face reality and decide how you were going to fit into it."

I nod, and feel a little uncomfortable. I feel like I should try to ask about Artie's experiences instead of keeping the conversation focused on me like a selfish asshole, but I can't think of anything to say.

I'm a little stunned by the new idea that it wasn't just magic that made Dalton such a transformative place.

Dalton transformed me because I'd been stripped of the main focus of my life—the violin—and I had no choice but to restructure my priorities and my outlook to accommodate violin's absence.

I don't know how I didn't see it like that before.

But rehearsal comes to an end, so I say goodbye to Artie, and let Kurt drive me home. He thinks I'm quiet because I'm tired, which is true, but it's mostly just because I have a lot of thinking to do. I suddenly miss playing violin more than I've let myself miss violin for a long time.


	73. I keep imagining you suffocating

Kurt and Finn would rather spend their Friday night out at a movie or a party than watching movies with their parents, but they stay home anyway because family is important to them. I can't remember feeling like so much shit in a very long time, so I'm more than content to curl up on the couch next to Kurt and do nothing all night.

Carole makes popcorn, and Finn, Burt and I fight her and Kurt about what movie to watch. We settle on a Shrek, which I haven't seen in years and years. I forgot how wonderful it is.

"You're adorable," Kurt whispers to me, when I can't stop giggling and grinning throughout the whole movie.

I stick out my tongue and whisper back, "I love this movie. No judging."

We snuggle closer together and Burt and Carole both watch us with the kind of look that only parents can give to their son snuggling with his boyfriend.

The joy of Shrek distracts me from feeling like crap, and it's not until the credits start rolling that I realize I haven't even coughed for the whole movie. I think I'm actually starting to get better, and it's a huge relief.

Kurt and Carole go to the kitchen to make more popcorn while Finn and Burt search for their Shrek 2 DVD, and I sit on the couch peacefully. I'm wondering how I've somehow become this guy who can just chill at home with a family.

I've never been that guy before.

I eventually get up to use the bathroom before we start the next movie.

As soon as I stand up, my lungs wake up from the wonderful peaceful slumber they'd been having, and before I even make it to the bathroom I feel like I've been kicked in the chest.

I've been wheezing all day, but suddenly I feel like someone is physically squeezing my lungs so that I can hardly breathe in or out, and it's awful. My inhaler is in the living room down the hall.

I abandon my quest for the bathroom and return to the couch. My head is spinning. It's got that weird balloon-like feeling again, like the air is just trapped inside. My breathing is a low, growly hiss that sends alarm bells off in my head.

"Blaine?" Kurt catches my arm as I stumble into the living room. "You're really pale."

I ignore him because I'm too focused on my mission to get my inhaler. I collapse onto the couch, pick up my inhaler, and force as much medication into my lungs as I can. It's not very much, and I can't hold it in my lungs long enough for it to be effective, because I just start coughing—stunted, painful, pitiful coughs with no power behind them because I have no air to fuel them.

Kurt says, "Aww… Blainey, that sounds awful!" It sounds like his heart is breaking for me.

I ignore him and focus on getting my chest to unclamp and relax. I haven't had an asthma attack like this in years. It's scaring the crap out of me, and the last thing I need to do is start panicking.

I keep my spine straight and try to keep my breaths as slow as possible until I'm ready to try my inhaler again. This time I manage to get a larger lungful. I feel the balloon inside my head start to leak a little, but the effect of the medication is far from dramatic. I lean back and cough and force air through the pain as slowly and deeply as I can.

"You okay, babe?" Kurt sits down next to me. Burt and Finn are both watching me uncomfortably.

I look up at him tiredly, and say, "I guess."

He rubs my back and asks, "Are you actually okay? Because it sounds a little bit like you're dying."

Finn calls, "Mom!"

At the same time, Burt calls, "Carole!"

Grimacing, I cough a little, and say, "Just give me a minute. I'm okay." My lungs are slowly but surely uncoiling, and my breathing is becoming a little easier.

"What is it?" Carole appears holding a bowl of popcorn.

Burt says, "Blaine's not doing so good."

She's a nurse, so I guess it's only natural for them to call for her to help me. Carole's face collapses in concern when she sees me straining for breath on the couch.

"Sweetie, what is it?"

Kurt says, "He's having an asthma attack, Carole."

I grimace, making myself use my inhaler one more time. Carole starts fussing over me immediately. "Oh, Sweetie, I don't like the sound of that at all. Can you take a deep breath for me?"

I nod, demonstrating my breathing for me. My wheeze is getting louder, which is actually a good sign, because it means I'm getting more air.

Carole grimaces. "Blaine, have you ever had an attack like this before?"

I nod again. "It's starting to let up," I rasp, "I think."

She asks, "Do you have a nebulizer or a peak flow meter or anything, honey?"

I shake my head. "Can you cough?"

I cough loudly and nod. "It's definitely getting better," I say, feeling how much easier it is to cough than before. "I'm alright."

Carole says, "You are getting your colour back."

I cough again, and feel a sudden release from the constricted muscles in my lungs. I'm suddenly breathing freer than I have all day, and it almost makes me dizzy to be getting so much oxygen. I cough some more.

"Holy crap," I say, "The meds just kicked in. Listen:" I breathe again and there's barely a wheeze at all.

Sometimes, the inhaler really is magic. Kurt, Burt, Finn, and Carole all look relieved.

Carole says, "I'm taking you to the clinic in the morning, Blaine, okay?"

I nod. "I'm gunna go to bed early," I say, "If that's okay."

"Of course," says Carole, "Just call if you need anything, okay?"

I go downstairs and fall asleep in my bed immediately without even changing out of my jeans.

I wake up a few hours later when I hear someone opening the door to my room. I look up blearily, and see Kurt standing in the doorway, wearing his pajamas and peering into the room.

I start coughing immediately. My lungs have obviously been slowly coiling closed again in my sleep, but it's not unbearable. I whisper to Kurt, "What are you doing?"

He comes and sits on my bed. "I was worried about you," he says, "I keep imagining you suffocating all alone down here or something."

"Aw. Sweetie. I'm okay. It's just a bad chest cold."

He says, "I know. But I can't just sit there upstairs knowing how miserable you are down here. Can I stay?"

I slide over in bed and cough some more. "Of course." I think back to the conversation I overheard between Burt and Carole, and wonder what they'll say if they find us down here together. But I want Kurt to comfort and cuddle me more than I care what they think.

He crawls into bed with me and wraps his warm arms around me. He whispers, "I love you, Blaine. And I'm sorry if you caught this from me,"

I cough, and his arms squeeze me tighter as my body rocks with the violence of the fit. "I love you too, Kurt. Thanks for coming down. This is nice."

He murmurs, "I know. I just want you to feel better. I don't like seeing you so miserable."

I drift off to sleep feeling warmer and safer than I think I ever have in my life.


	74. I'm in big trouble

It's wonderful to feel Kurt's limbs slowly entwine further and further around me as I fall asleep, but when I wake up an hour or so later, it just makes me feel more suffocated. My neck, shoulders, and chest are so sore from the effort of forcing air through the vice grip of asthma on my lungs that I don't know if I have the strength left to hold my own head up.

But I have to sit up, because if I lie here a moment longer, I think I might die.

Luckily, Kurt's wide awake, and I think he has been all night. As soon as he feels me shifting, he untangles himself from me and helps me sit up.

I cough and groan and stand up, stretching my arms to the ceiling in a vain attempt at loosening up my chest. It only makes me cough more. I sit back down on the bed, fighting my instinct to start gasping. I have to keep my inhales and exhales even and slow, or this is only getting worse.

But it's hard to regulate your breathing when you're barely getting enough air to see straight.

Kurt passes me my inhaler and starts massaging my shoulders, which feels wonderful. I moan in appreciation before approaching the exhausting task of trying to get some medication out of my inhaler and through my ever narrowing airways.

We sit there in silence, him massaging me, and me doing everything I've ever been taught to try to get my lungs to loosen up a little.

After fifteen minutes or so, I feel a little better, and Kurt and I return to our cuddling position lying down on the bed. I fall back asleep.

An hour later I wake up again, wheezing worse than ever, and we repeat the same process. When I'm breathing okay again, he kisses me, and whispers, "I'm taking you to the emergency room next time, okay?"

I shake my head and pull his body close to mine as I fall back into an exhausted sleep.

At five-twenty-two AM, I wake up covered in sweat and feeling nauseous from lack of oxygen. Sun is starting to trickle through the little window in my room, and I can see how blue my hands look. There's an immense, unbearable pressure encompassing my lungs, and when I try to cough, I don't have enough air in my lungs to even exhale, let alone cough.

I try to shift some of the pressure by sitting up, but Kurt is spooning me and he's holding me tight like he'll lose me forever if I let go. His breaths are deep and even; he's finally asleep.

I lie in his arms for a moment, trying to stem the panic and assess how much trouble I really am.

I'm in big trouble.

I nudge Kurt and try to tell him to wake up, but I don't have enough air to form words. My heart starts racing. I'm starting to panic, and that's the last thing I need. I nudge Kurt again, harder this time, and attach my inhaler to my lips in vain.

This is bad.

Kurt rolls over, pulling his arms away from me and mumbling in annoyance about being woken up. I sit up, and feel a fraction of the pressure lift from my chest.

"Fuck." Kurt remembers where he is and opens his eyes, looking at me. I probably look so sickly and pathetic, with my hair curly and everywhere and my skin turning blue, inhaler glued to my mouth.

I give him puppy-dog eyes, and he says, "What can I do?"

I close my eyes, shake my head, and whisper, "Help." I'm so dizzy.

"Fuck," he says, again. I feel his weight leave the bed and then hear his feet pounding up the stairs.

"DAD? CAROLE?"

My stomach churns a bit at the thought of them seeing me like this, but I'm being stupid. I can feel consciousness getting harder and harder to hold onto, and for the first time in days, I can't hear myself wheezing; I'm not getting enough air to make a sound. I'm only able to force tiny droplets of air past the inflamed, clamped up, angry mess that are my airways.

When I open my eyes again, the light is on in my room, and Carole is hovering over me. Burt is at the door. "Blaine, honey, we're gunna take you to the emergency room, okay?"

I nod gratefully. She asks, "Can you stand up?"

I swing my legs off of the bed and try, but I'm too dizzy, and I sit back down almost immediately. I close my eyes in humiliation. I don't even try to say anything in apology. I can't waste air on that.

Kurt and his dad come forward, and Burt takes me in his arms like a child. I keep my eyes closed tight, so embarrassed that I would cry if I could breathe.

"I'm sorry," Burt says, obviously empathizing with my humiliation. "But we've got to get you upstairs and to the car, Blaine."

Trying to keep the mood light, Kurt says, "It's a good thing you're tiny, Blaine."

I nod and try to smile, even though I don't think it's funny. Burt carries me up the stairs and out to the car. Carole says, "We don't all have to come."

Kurt is already sitting next to me with his arm around me. I can feel him trembling. He's scared.

Burt says, "You take him, Carole. You're the nurse. I'll stay back and let Finn know what's going on. Call me, okay?"

I tune them all out and focus on obtaining at least enough air to stay conscious. I'm so dizzy.

They bring a wheelchair out to the car at the hospital and rush me into the emergency room. Carole isn't a nurse at this hospital, but she knows her way around an emergency room. She tells the admitting nurse at the desk something I don't quite hear or understand, and they take me straight back to a bed. I have an oxygen mask strapped on my face faster than I can comprehend. I must really be in trouble.

"His oxygen levels are dangerously low," says a nurse, "I don't know how he's still conscious. What's his name?"

"Blaine Anderson," I distantly hear Kurt's voice say.

"Is he allergic to any medications?"

I shake my head and finally let myself pass out.


	75. You almost died, Blaine

When I wake up, everything is fuzzy, and I feel like I'm choking. I struggle for a moment and then realize that there's a tube down my throat.

My head hurts like hell. Every muscle in my body hurts like hell. I'm starting to panic. I want to cough, but I can't because there's a tube down my fucking throat. It's rigid and jabbing my insides and I don't like it one bit.

I don't think I'm breathing on my own. I feel strange and breathless, and yet my head is clear and I the feeling of oxygen deprivation is gone. It is the most bizarre thing I have ever felt.

I'm attached to at least three machines. I don't know which one is breathing for me, but somehow I resent it. My mouth feels weird and slobbery, but I can't swallow or talk or do anything. There's a fucking tube down my throat.

A nurse comes by and sees that my eyes are open. She goes and adjusts something on the machine attached to the IV in my arm, and I feel myself drifting back to sleep.

The next time I wake up, Finn is sitting in the chair where Kurt used to be, playing a game on his phone and looking tired. I try to speak, but the tube is still there.

He hears me struggling, and sets down his phone immediately. "Shit. You're awake. I'll go get Kurt."

He leaves quickly, and I try to sit up to see where he's going, but the tube down my throat is too rigid and uncomfortable for me to move more than a couple of inches without considerable pain. I'm starting to panic again. Where's Kurt? What is happening to me? Why am I intubated? I've never been intubated before. I remember a doctor once explaining to me how dangerous it could be to treat asthma with intubation. Something about air getting trapped in the lungs and infection and a bunch of other scary stuff.

This tube cannot be good for my voice.

Oh my god; there's a tube coming directly out of my chest.

I might pass out again.

"Your brother said you were awake."

I blink, and there's a nurse standing in front of me. Is Cooper here?

After a moment, I realize that she's talking about Finn.

"How're you feeling, Blaine?"

I don't know how she expects me to answer. I have a fucking tube down my throat!

She seems to realize this immediately and says, "Your family is on their way, Blaine. Do you want me to explain what's happening here?"

She gestures around to all of the machines that I'm attached to. I nod ever so slightly.

But I forget to listen to what she's saying, because I get distracted by how strange it feels to have a machine breathe for me. To have a tube down my throat. To have a tube coming out of my chest. And my arm.

I'm so tired.

I pick up a few of the words she says, and they're scary.

"Bronchopneumonia… pneumothorax… pleurisy, barotraumas… respiratory failure…"

I close my eyes again, and beg the universe for Kurt to get here.

"Blaine?"

I feel Kurt's hand squeezing mine, and I open my eyes. The nurse is gone, and Kurt, Finn, Burt, and Carole are all standing around me.

I wish I could say something, but all I can do is stare up at them.

Carole uses a button beside my bed to mechanically tilt my bed up so that I'm in a sitting position and not flat on my back. She pushes a bed tray in front of me with a pen and pad of paper.

"I'm so glad you're awake," Kurt whispers to me, "I was so so so worried."

He looks exhausted and scared, and I wish I could hug him, but I can barely move my arm enough to pick up the pen.

I write, _How long have I been here_?

Kurt says, "A day. It's Sunday morning, Blaine."

A wave of panic washes over me. How can that much time have passed?

What the fuck is wrong with me?

They're all staring at me, waiting for me to do something, but I don't know what to do, and it's stressing me out.

Carole says, "We'll leave you and Kurt alone, okay, Blaine?"

I lock eyes with her and try to express my gratitude wordlessly. Finn, Burt, and Carole leave, and Kurt grips my good hand with both of his.

I stare up at him. _What happened?_ I write.

Kurt says, "Do you want the long story or the short story?"

I shrug. I don't have the energy to write any more, so I'll let him choose.

He bites his lip. I can tell that it's killing him to see me like this, and I wish I could make it better.

He says, "You passed out just after we got you to the emergency room. Do you remember that?"

I nod.

"And then they put you on a nebulizer and IV steroids for a few hours, but you kept getting worse."

He swallows, and I squeeze his hand in apology and comfort. "Then they did a chest X-ray, and found out that you have pneumonia in both lungs, and fluid building outside of your lungs. I guess that scared them, because they moved you to the ICU and gave you a couple of adrenaline injections."

I grimace, and close my eyes. Fuck.

He says, "Then sometime around noon yesterday, your lungs started collapsing. So they had to put those tubes into your chest to drain the fluid. Then you went into respiratory failure around five or six last night, so they put you on the ventilator."

He wipes a tear off of his face, and whispers, "I was so scared, Blaine."

I slide over on my bed to be closer to him, and keep squeezing his hand as tight as I can.

"Apparently you have bronchitis and pneumonia at the same time," he says. "And combined with asthma and not resting enough… well, you almost died, Blaine."

I feel a wave of panic wash over me when he says the words. I lock eyes with him.

Kurt smiles a little. "Don't look so scared, Blaine. You're going to be okay."

I pick up the pen, and write, _I'm sorry._

He shakes his head. "None of this is your fault. I'm just glad you pulled through."

_How long do I have to be here?_

"I don't know," he says, "We haven't seen a doctor since last night. The nurses say that your vitals are stable, but nobody really telling us much more. Carole thinks you're gunna be here for at least a week, though."

I grimace. Regionals are in nine days. Fucking fuck fuck.

He sees my expression, and says, "The important thing is that you're okay, Blaine. You have no idea how scared we all were."

He keeps holding my hand as I slowly drift back to sleep.

Honestly, I don't know what the world has against me this year.


	76. If this is how it feels to be my mother

When I met Kurt, I thought that I was through my hard times. I thought that I'd been empowered by the crap I'd been through. I thought that I was ready to face anything. I was the confident, easygoing, wizened gay superstar, all too willing to hand out advice and act like I was invincible.

After everything that has happened in the last few months, I want to cringe at how naïve and douchey that guy was. The guy Kurt fell in love with. The guy I was when I fell in love with Kurt. The guy who thought that there was nothing a positive attitude and a charming smile couldn't fix.

What an asshole.

It's not that Dalton Blaine is dead. I'm still that guy. It's just that that guy has kind of been slapped in the face with reality.

Months ago, my mom told me that I was afraid to face the world outside of Dalton, and I knew she was right. But what I was most afraid of was the one thing that has kept me sane.

I was afraid to face my feelings for Kurt and make a real commitment to him. I was afraid to be vulnerable and honest with the boy who respected and loved me.

I can't believe what an asshole I used to be.

Still, I'm lying here in bed remembering the guy I was a year ago, and my heart breaks a little. I was so sure that I had it all figured out. That the world couldn't throw anything at me that my charm and talent couldn't handle with grace and good humour. I thought I'd been through hell and made it out a better person.

And it's really not like I was wrong.

But first my father almost killed me, and now my own body almost did the same. I'm never going to assume that the worst is over ever again, because the world is obviously never going to stop throwing bullshit my way.

I know I'm supposed to be the optimistic guy with all of the smiles, but when you're attached to a machine just to breathe, it's a little hard to look on the bright side.

The doctors aren't sure how having a giant plastic tube mashed against my vocal chords for days on end are going to affect my singing voice.

They aren't sure how much longer they're going to have to pump antibiotics through my blood.

They aren't sure when I'm going to be able to go home.

The doctors say I'm lucky to be alive. They say I'm not out of the woods yet.

Kurt says he loves me and that the whole glee club is praying for me.

Kurt doesn't really approve of prayer, but it's nice to know that people care. I've forbid Kurt to let anyone but his immediate family visit me while I have a tube down my throat, but I've been getting texts and emails and tweets and facebook messages galore.

Mike and Artie have been sending me hilarious youtube videos to help me pass the time, which isn't necessarily a good thing, because it's not really possible to laugh without agonizing pain when you're hooked up to a respirator.

The nurse says they're going to try weaning me off the respirator later today. I might be able to eat real food tonight, which is perhaps the most exciting thing I've heard in years.

When I think about it, it's a little bit funny. This is my fourth time in the hospital since November. First my dad gave me a concussion, then a cupcake tried to kill me, then I broke my nose trying to escape from the house I grew up in. Now my own lungs decided to stop being lungs for a while.

Kurt's trying to graduate and figure out what the fuck he's supposed to do with all of that future he's got, and I'm barely capable of getting through my junior year.

Sometimes I feel like I should be a lot older than I actually am.

I really fucking don't want to do senior year without Kurt.

I really don't want to keep fucking up Kurt's senior year with my own horror movie drama.

Sometimes my brain goes crazy and I feel myself shutting down, and I wonder if this is how it feels to be my mother.

I wonder if what's wrong with my mother might be genetic. My mother's step-son moved away, and she snapped so completely that she can't function on her own.

What if Kurt leaving pushes me over that same ledge?

Why am I worrying about Kurt leaving? It's February. Kurt doesn't graduate for another four months, and he won't move away for at least another six. I should be worrying about Regionals and Nationals and the impending court battle against my dad. I should be worrying about my vocal chords and my lungs and the fact that my hand has been freaking out every two or three hours since I woke up in the hospital two days ago.

It's possible that I won't able to perform at Regionals.

It's possible that my vocal chords will be permanently altered from the pressure of this tube.

What am I going to do if I can't even sing anymore?

What are Kurt and Rachel going to do if we lose Regionals?

How am I so cocky to even think that my voice could make a difference?

Why can't I just have one week where the enthusiastic, outgoing, self-assured, and confident front I put on isn't a lie? I want to be that guy. The asshole without a worry. That's who I really am. It's what I act like. It's how people see me. It's the way I see myself. I am that guy. I just wish that the world would just stop trying to get him killed. He's struggling right now.

I'm all over the place.

Days pass slowly in the hospital.

Things aren't really that bad. I'm really sick, but I still have Kurt and I still have Burt and Carole and Finn looking out for me. I'm still safe from my dad and I'm still determined to make sure he doesn't hurt anyone else ever again. I'm still Blaine Anderson, and I'm still going to be okay.

No matter what, the past is the past, and it doesn't have to mean anything. I'm going to get better and enjoy the rest of my junior year no matter what else happens.

I'm all over the place.

I want my brain to slow down.

To stop thinking.

Things don't have to be as complicated as I always make them.


	77. Just don't stress him out

I get through the night on Tuesday without the respirator, so first thing in the morning on Wednesday the entire glee club shows up to visit me before school.

I'm very relieved to be able to speak and swallow and breathe like a human being again, but I haven't been able to wash or style my hair in about five days, so I can't help but want to hide under the blankets when I see Rachel Berry poke her head into my room.

My throat is very sore from the tube. It's unclear how quickly my voice will recover, or if ever will at all, so I'm trying to enforce vocal rest upon myself.

It's surprisingly easy to keep quiet when you're bombarded by a dozen of your friends all at once.

They all hug me and natter their obligatory concerns and relief.

"Kurt said you were in _respiratory failure_?" Mercedes asks, "That sounds terrifying."

Rachel says, "I blame myself. I'm the one who insisted that everyone keep coming to rehearsal even when they were sick. If you'd just been able to get some rest…"

"I thought that Kurt was joking when he told me," says Mike, "I didn't think anything else could possibly go wrong for you this year."

"I had no idea your hair was so curly without jell."

"I can't believe you had to be on a respirator."

"I'm so glad you're okay, Blaine."

"You look exhausted."

"Do you want us to bring you anything?"

"I brought you chocolate."

And after they've satisfied themselves with sufficient sympathy and well-wishes, they bring up Regionals.

"How much longer will you be here?" Rachel asks, "Regionals is in exactly a week."

I groan, and Kurt says, "His doctors say it's going to be a few more days. He'll probably be out by the weekend."

"But is he gunna be able to sing? And dance?"

I feel a knot of panic start to twist inside of me. Kurt says, "Well, he's on strict vocal rest and tons of antibiotics, so we're hoping he'll be good to go on Wednesday."

Quinn says, "You're hoping?"

Mercedes says, "But he's missing a week of rehearsals."

"And if we have to do this without him, we need to start rehearsing it that way_ now_."

I say, "Just give me a couple more days. Then we'll know for sure."

My voice sounds strained, and they all look at me in surprise, like they'd forgotten I was actually in the room.

Rachel says, "I think it'll be dangerous for you to risk reinjuring your voice so soon after being intubated. We should just do Regionals without you. You'll be strong for Nationals."

I protest, "By Regionals, the tube will have been out for a week."

"Shhh…" Kurt squeezes my hand and stands protectively in front of my bed. "Rest your voice, sweetie."

Mike says, "We need Blaine. Who else is going to pull of that solo in the techno number? You have to recover fast, buddy."

Artie adds, "All of our dance routines will be uneven and weird without him."

Leave it to me to fuck up our only chance at getting to Nationals.

Kurt says, "Don't worry about it. Blaine performed with a concussion at Christmas, remember? He's gunna be at Regionals. Just don't stress him out about it. You know how much he's been through already."

He's wonderful.

Finn says, "Come on you guys. We have to get to school."

They all nod, looking a little guilty. I say, "Thanks for coming to visit, you guys. It means a lot."

They all say their goodbyes and head to school.

I spend another day attached to an IV and trying to drag out my homework as long as possible while I wait for Kurt to be out of school.

I want to go home so bad.

And it's a little crazy that I already think of that room in Kurt's basement as home.


	78. It tastes like childhood and comfort

Kurt and his family have been wonderful through this whole ordeal, but I feel guilty for disrupting their lives so much. Someone always checks in on me before school and work and during lunchtimes, and Kurt is always by my side from the moment he gets out of glee until the nurses send him home.

Visiting hours for non-family technically ends at eight-thirty, but most of the nurses are pretty lenient with that rule, especially since I don't really have any family to come visit. Kurt usually gets away with staying until eleven or twelve at night.

There is one nurse though, who disapproves of the relationship Kurt and I share, and last night she kicked him out at quarter after eight.

I think that Carole, Burt, and Finn are all taking it in turns to turn up at the hospital around six or seven, just to make sure that Kurt takes the time to eat dinner. They always bring me an alternative to hospital food when they come, which I couldn't be more appreciative of.

Tonight, Finn shows up at six o'clock, and Kurt is in my bed with me. We're fully clothed and not even under the covers, but hands are in fun places, and our tongues are very much entwined. The room I'm in is shared between I think four other patients with partial walls around each bed, but no doors.

"Oh Jesus," Finn says, when he rounds the corner into my cubicle. Kurt and I unlock lips and look up; Finn is carrying takeout food and averting his eyes.

Kurt and I untangle our limbs, Finn apologizes hurriedly, still not looking up. He's so flustered it's kind of endearing.

Kurt says, "Oh grow up, Finn. We had our clothes on."

Finn glances up and looks relieved to see Kurt no longer on the bed. "I wasn't going to look closely enough to make sure. Jesus. This isn't a private room, you guys. You can't just…"

He's blushing, and I laugh. Kurt says, "What, so you think you'd be able to keep it in _your _pants for a week if Rachel was sick?"

Finn blushes even deeper. He mumbles, "I just don't like knowing about other peoples' sex lives."

Kurt and I giggle.

I whisper, "What did you bring?"

In an effort to allow my throat and vocal chords to heal, I'm not allowed to speak any louder than a whisper.

Finn sets the food down on the bed tray, and says, "It showed up at our house with a note asking us to bring it to you. I have no idea if it's poison or not. But there's a letter addressed to you."

Kurt and I both have the same reaction to this; we tear open the bags and open the unlabeled boxes.

A wonderful, familiar, and almost nostalgic aroma hits my nose, and my heart drops a little. I peer into the boxes. They're full of mouth-watering, memory-inducing Filipino food. Lumpia, pancit, hot calamansi, bibingka… everything that my mother used to cook for me when I was a kid. Food I haven't eaten in years and years.

I feel tears spring to my eyes as Finn and Kurt look at the food with skeptical eyes, and I open the letter attached to the bag.

_Dear Blaine_,

_I thought that you could use a pick-me-up, and I wondered when the last time you tasted real food was. Do you remember when we used to cook together? I ordered this from my friend Vivian's restaurant. It won't be quite the same as I used to make it, but it'll be close. Share with your friends! I hope that Kurt's family can get this to you, and I hope that you're feeling better! Call me tonight. Love you, sweetie. _

_Xoxoxo_

_Mom_

I read it quickly, but not fast enough for the tears to pool in my eyes and start running down my face. I wipe them away quickly, but Kurt notices. "What is it, Blaine? Who is it from?"

I fold the letter and sit on it. "It's Filipino food," I whisper, "My mom sent it."

My heart feels so warm and happy right now it's almost tragic.

Finn looks awkward as I wipe away more tears and reach into the box for a lumpia. Kurt smiles widely, and says, "Aw, that's so sweet of her!"

I pass him a lumpia, and he asks, "What is it?"

"It's like a spring roll," I say, "Eat it."

Kurt takes it, and I pass one to Finn too. He takes it with a bit more hesitation.

"Your _mom_ sent this stuff?"

I nod, "Yeah."

"I thought… I mean, I didn't know you had a mom."

I realize very suddenly that Kurt's family still knows nothing about my mother. They've been harbouring me from my father all this time without even knowing the full story of my family.

I look at Kurt in alarm, and he grimaces at me through his mouthful of food.

"Oh," I say, "Right."

I distinctly remember telling Kurt's family months ago that my mother was a writer. I distinctly remember talking to him at Sectionals about how both of my parents were there. So I have no idea and what Finn thought.

He's staring at me expectantly. I whisper, "My mom…" I look at Kurt for help.

Kurt says, "His mom lives in a home for…"

"Special needs adults," I supply quietly.

Nodding, Kurt says, "She's a very sweet lady. I've met her a few times."

Finn returns to looking awkward. "Oh," he says, "I'm… oh."

I smile, sensing how uncomfortable he is. I don't want anyone to think that I'm ashamed of my mom. This should be something I can talk about freely. She's my mom.

I say, "She has pretty serious bipolar disorder."

Nobody has ever actually told me that what my mom has is bipolar, but it's easier to say that than explain anything else.

Finn nods. "Oh. I'm sorry."

I whisper, "No need to be sorry. I love my mom. She has her bad days, but mostly she always know s exactly what I need to feel better."

I take a bite of the lumpia I'm holding, and savour it carefully. It tastes like childhood and comfort and all kinds of wonderfulness.

Finn smiles, tasting his own. "Well, this was very nice of her. I've never had Filipino food before in my life."

I say, "I grew up on it. She used to get me to help her cook this stuff. We'd spend all afternoon just making food."

I hadn't thought about that in years.

"Really?" Kurt kisses me. "You never told me that before."

I nod. "Mom's a great cook. But I haven't had Filipino food in years." I quickly brush another nostalgic tear away.

"Your mom—is she _from_ the Philippines? She speaks perfect English."

I say, "She was born there, but she's been in the states since she was a teenager. And she has PhD in English, so I guess she'd better speak English, yeah."

Kurt laughs. "I guess. That's cool."

Finn nods. "Very cool."

I explain to them what all of the different foods are, and we feast on every last bite of it.

I love my mother so freaking much. Is it so impossible to dream that someday she'll be well enough that she can move out of that home and live with me? I'll take care of her. She'll take care of me. We'll be a real family again.

I close my eyes and pretend that I'm six years old, sitting in the kitchen with my mother in her silly little apron, eating the food that will probably always make me wish I was six years old again.


	79. Hope for Ohio

When Finn goes home an hour later, Kurt and I are both much too full to resume fooling around.

He says, "I can tell that you're feeling much better."

I nod. "I'm ready to move on with my life."

I'm still coughing a lot and it still hurts a lot to cough, but besides that and the sore throat, I feel fine. It's driving me crazy to have to stay in this bed.

"I'm glad. You'll be ready for Regionals, right?"

I shrug. "I mean, I want to," I whisper, "But is it really fair to any of you when I'm missing so much rehearsal? You're probably better off without me."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Kurt says, "You're one of our best performers. And you're a natural. You had the numbers down before any of this happened. We haven't learned anything new."

I say, "I dunno. Maybe Rachel's right. Maybe you should just prepare for me not being there."

Kurt laughs, "Don't worry about that. Did you really think Rachel and Mr. Schue were going to take any chances? We spent the whole rehearsal today working out what to do if you aren't ready. We can do it without you. We just really don't want to."

I smile and wonder if he's being fully honest. I feel like there are a lot of people who resent how big of a role I have in our Regionals numbers, and who will cherish the opportunity to take over.

I whisper, "Well, that's a relief."

He kisses me. "You'll be there. Don't even kid yourself. You'd rather die than miss a chance to be in the spotlight."

He does kind of have a point.

We snuggle a little while longer, and when Kurt speaks again, his tone is different. He asks, "Can I ask you something?"

He sounds nervous and serious, which makes me feel nervous and serious. "What is it?" I ask.

He takes a while to get his words out. "I was just… I mean, I can't help but wonder…"

"Wonder what, Kurt?"

"I feel like what happened between you and your dad is my fault."

"What?" I say the word in my full voice without thinking. "Not at _all_, Kurt."

"Shhh…" he murmurs squeezing my hand.

I whisper, "I honestly don't think my dad had any idea that I had a boyfriend, Kurt. If he had, I don't know if I'd be alive right now."

Kurt shakes his head. "That's not what I meant."

I cough and wonder where he's going.

"Months ago—in August—I asked you to come to McKinley, but you told me that you didn't want to, because you'd rather live in dorms with friends than at home with your dad."

My stomach clenches and I realize what this leading up to. He continues, "But I kept pressuring you to transfer—and you did."

I say, "Kurt, don't."

He presses on, "And now I keep thinking that if I'd just stopped being so selfish and really listened to you… I mean, if you'd just stayed at Dalton, none of this would have happened."

I shake my head. "No," I say, "You absolutely cannot blame yourself. For one thing, I would have had to face my dad at some point. Dalton was a tool in avoidance, but it was never a permanent solution. And second of all, I came to McKinley because I love you and wanted to spend time with you, but I didn't leave Dalton because you asked me to."

He insists, "But if it weren't for me…"

I say, "Kurt, I never told this to you because I didn't… well, we can talk about why later, but what's important is that I was going to leave Dalton before you even asked me to."

He raises an eyebrow. I tell him, "My dad refused to pay the tuition. He wanted me back in public school where I would interact with girls and maybe be cured of homosexuality or something. So you had _nothing_ to do with what happened between me and my dad, okay?"

Kurt looks a little stunned, but relieved at the same time. "Are you telling me the truth?" he asks, "Why didn't you just say so at the time?"

I put my good hand to his face and look him in the eyes. How do I word this?

"I guess I was just scared," I say, "I deluded myself into thinking I could pay the tuition at Dalton myself."

"What were you scared of? Living with your dad?"

I say, "No. Well, yeah. But that's not why I didn't tell you the truth. I was scared of _us_. In my head, if I went to McKinley, I was committing to you on a whole new level. I mean, there are other schools in Lima, Kurt. I could have gone to a different one. But if I chose McKinley specifically, it had to be because I loved you and I was ready to be real with you. And that scared the crap out of me."

Kurt gives me this look like I'm adorable or crazy or something, and he kisses me. "Aw. Sweetie, I was scared too. You really caught me off guard when you actually showed up at McKinley. I'd sort of thought that we were joking about the possibility. And then you were actually there. I think I almost fainted."

I remember his little freak out when I first arrived, and I kiss him back. "But it worked out. I can't imagine what life would be like for us right now if we were still at different schools."

He shakes his head, "I don't even want to think about it. I like the way we are right now. No secrets. No reservations. Just Kurt and Blaine."

"Forever," I agree. "Forever."

We both giggle a little, and cuddle closer together. We start to get a little carried away with our hands and our lips.

"_Enough!_" We both look up and see Heather, the homophobic nurse, standing at the foot of my bed, looking scandalized and furious.

Kurt and I just stare up at each other.

She hisses, "That is so _incredibly_ inappropriate! I can't even…"

I meet Kurt's eye, and we silently agree not to let go of each other.

"Of all the indecent, unholy, _disgusting…_"

Kurt interjects, "Visiting hours aren't over yet. We have all of our clothes on. What's the problem?"

She sputters, "I don't know _what_ kind of sick, twisted…"

"I heard you calling that guy on the other side of the room _adorable_ for getting caught _actually having sex_ with his wife like four hours ago," I hiss at her.

Heather's lips tighten. "That's a _completely _different… if you think it's okay to pollute this ward with your _indecency_… I won't stand for it!"

"Hey!" we hear a voice on the other side of the divider call out, "Leave the poor kids alone!"

Heather decides to ignore it. "Look," she says, "Some of the staff here might put up with… I just don't think it's right for…"

She's thrown off guard by Kurt and I breaking out into grins. All three of the other patients in this yard have gotten out of bed and are standing behind Janet, two of them attached to IV's. None of them are saying anything; they wait for Heather to turn around.

Slowly, she pivots to see what we're grinning at.

The big guy who got caught with his wife earlier stands tall and says, "You have a problem with these boys, sweetheart?"

She stammers and tries to walk away, but all three of the other patients stand their ground and block her way.

The girl from the bed on the other side to me asks, "You have something against _love_, Heather?"

Heather stares with her mouth open.

The elderly man from the bed on my other side says, "I've been listening to those boys for days. A more genuine, honest relationship is hard to find."

The big guy adds, "Kurt's here for hours and hours a day, while my wife can't be bothered to stop by for more than twenty minutes. Tell me why what _they_ have is wrong."

I feel like crying again; I'm so overwhelmed by this show of support. Kurt's jaw is hanging open and he keeps making these little squeaking noises, like he's so stunned that words aren't working.

Heather says, "This is none of your business. Go back to bed."

"No," says the girl, "I don't think it's right for you to discriminate against your patients."

The old man says, "And I _know_ it isn't right for you to speak to a sick kid like that. What kind of a nurse are you?"

"You can't yell at teenagers for being in love, Heather. It's not okay."

Heather makes a frustrated, wordless noise, and finally physically pushes her way past them and storms out of the ward.

All five of us left in the room stare around each other.

"Better hope none of us need help before her shift's up," the big guy laughs, "I don't think she's coming back."

We all burst out laughing, and Kurt and I hug all of them in gratitude and awe.

Maybe there's hope for Ohio after all.


	80. As long as you're making my son happy

I don't know if they've been told that I'm having pain in my hand, or if they're just running routine follow-up tests, but this morning I get sent all over the hospital for x-rays and an MRI and various other scans and poking and prodding.

By lunch, I'm exhausted and starting to feel wheezy again, which makes me afraid that I'm not really as much better as lying in bed all day has lead me to believe.

In the afternoon, Dr. Howard, the surgeon who operated on my hand a few times a year and a half ago, shows up in my room.

"How're you doing, Blaine?"

I shrug. I have a feeling he's not going to be too happy with me.

"From the looks of your scans, not so good, huh?"

I smile sheepishly.

"If these scans are right, you must be in an _incredible_ amount of pain, Blaine. How long did you think you could ignore it?"

"It's not that I've been ignoring it," I say, "I've just had a lot on my mind lately."

Dr. Howard says, "Well, we can't ignore it any longer. If we don't operate soon, you could lose the whole hand, Blaine."

My jaw drops. "_What! _Why?"

My heart starts pounding and I feel like all of the blood is leaving my head.

"It's hard to be sure why," Dr. Howard says, "But the nerves we repaired last year are degenerating. Maybe you reinjured it, maybe the surgery just didn't work, or maybe you just have bad luck. Either way, we're going to have to get back in there and do some more damage control."

"But you can fix it?"

He says, "I can stop the pain."

I don't like the sounds of that. "But I'll… what…"

"Breathe, Blaine."

Like telling me that is going to help.

He says, "It's been a long time since the initial surgeries, and there's a lot of scar tissue in your hand. That's going to make any sort of nerve surgery very difficult. But I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you retain use of as much of your hand as possible, okay? If we're really lucky, you might even get back some of the function you've been missing."

My heart skips another beat. "I could get it back?"

"Not all of it," Dr. Howard says, "But maybe a little. But I want to emphasize that that's the best-case-scenario only. We won't know for sure until we get in there. All I can promise you is that we can stop the pain."

I close my eyes and try to calm myself down. "No pain is good," I whisper.

He laughs. "Right. It's good. So I'm going to go ahead and schedule that surgery for as soon as I can get you in."

"When do you think that'll be?" "

Apologetically, the surgeon says, "I don't know. You're a pretty urgent case though, so it won't be more than a few weeks. We'll get you fixed up, okay?"

I swallow. "Okay," I say. "Thank you."

Almost as soon as he's gone, a redheaded male nurse called James come by to let me know that I'll be discharged tomorrow morning.

I'm going home.

Carole and Burt arrive together while Kurt is at glee rehearsal, and I tell them about the surgery and about going home.

They're obviously relieved that I'm getting discharged, but they exchange glances, and I can tell that they're here together for a reason.

"Blaine, we know that you're tired and you have a lot on your mind, but…" Carole starts, looking at me with deep concern.

Burt interjects, "We want you to know that we're ready to support you no matter what happens."

I don't have the foggiest idea where this is going, but it's making me very uncomfortable.

Carole says, "But as you know, you've been officially declared an emancipated minor by the state."

I nod. Burt says, "This means that you can make your own medical decisions and officially, you're in charge of your own life."

I nod again. Are they going to try to talk me out of the surgery? What is going on?

"But when you were unconscious, someone had to make decisions for you. Because you had no relatives present, and Kurt is underage, Burt was given that responsibility."

"Okay…"

Carole says, "And ever since then, the hospital administration has been treating us as if we were your guardians. But they haven't disclosed any medical information, so don't worry about that."

I raise an eyebrow, "Okay…?"

Burt says, "Blaine, two days ago, the hospital called us to let us know that your father has taken you off of his health insurance. And this afternoon, they faxed me the bill for your stay here."

A cold wave of embarrassment washes over me. I hadn't even thought about that. "Oh my god," I say, "I'll pay it myself, don't even worry."

Carole says, "Honey, it's a big bill. And if you need surgery now, the expenses are just going to pile up."

I say, "Maybe I can get onto my mom's insurance."

My mom worked for the government as a technical writer before she got sick, and the health insurance for government employees is so good that mom could live in her care facility for the rest of her life and never have to pay a cent.

Burt raises his eyebrows. "What does your mom do?"

I explain about my mom, and Carole and Burt both give me looks of sympathy that I sort of resent.

Carole says, "I'm sorry sweetie, but you're not your mom's dependent, and you haven't been for a long time. You can't get on her insurance."

"Well maybe my brother's then."

I have no idea if Cooper even has insurance.

"It's the same thing, Blaine. You're an emancipated minor. But Burt and I can pay your bills, sweetie. We only bring this up because we think you deserve to be aware of it."

I shake my head. "No. I can't ask you to do that. I'll get the money."

Burt says, "Blaine, if you want to pay us back some day, we're not going to say no. But I don't want you to have to worry about money right now. You already have too much to worry about for a kid your age."

I say, "You guys have already done too much for me. I wouldn't feel comfortable with…"

"So you'll pay us back," Burt says, "We'll give you copies of the invoices. In a few years, when you're rich and famous, you'll repay us. But I know you can't afford this on your own right now, and it's only going to collect interest if it's not paid soon."

I grimace. "I'll get a job."

Over the summer, I had this gig at local funeral home where they'd pay me a couple hundred bucks just to sing a couple of songs at funerals. I bet I could get that job back.

Carole says, "You have school and glee and surgery and court to worry about, Blaine. You don't need to be working through all of that too. Just let us help you, okay? Burt and I can afford this."

I know that they're right, but I've given up so much of my pride in the last few weeks that it's not easy to let go of any more.

I say, "I'm… I will pay you back right away. With interest."

Burt and Carole both smile.

Burt says, "Thank you, Blaine. It's the least we can do for you."

They're already giving me a place to live, so I would beg to differ, but I'm so full of warm fuzzy gratitude, that I don't argue.

Burt says, "After everything you've done for my son, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, Blaine."

I say, "He's done more for me, Burt."

"You don't know how miserable he was before he met you," Burt says, "Having you in his life makes him happier than I've seen him since his mom died. So you don't ever have to feel guilty for accepting hospitality from us, Blaine. As long as you're making my son happy, you're in my debt."

Kurt is so fucking lucky to have such a wonderful man as his father.


	81. We are motherfucking sex gods

They release me from the hospital on Saturday morning, and Kurt drives me home, since Burt and Finn are at the garage and Carole is at work.

We have the house to ourselves.

For the first time in a week, we have genuine privacy and I don't have any tubes sticking out of my body.

His room has a bigger bed, so we spend most of the day in there.

There was once a time when Kurt was self-conscious and nervous about sex, but those days are long gone.

He's my first and my only, but oh my god oh my god oh my sweet fucking god, I can't imagine anything more awesome than being with Kurt Hummel.

We are seriously good at this.

We can make it last all day.

We're masters of foreplay.

We have masterful tongues and masterful lips and masterful fingers.

We're masters of bringing ourselves right to the edge and then riding the wave for ages and wonderful, frustrating, toe-tingling, tantric ages before we finally let it crash to shore and dissolve into pure, dizzying, blissful, exhilarating orgasm.

We are motherfucking sex gods.

I love this man with every part of my existence.

And now we're covered in sweat and unable to stop grinning.

"Let's take a shower."

And so, giggling and still breathing hard, we walk naked across the house to the bathroom, and get into the shower.

But before we finish rubbing to soap off of each other, we hear the front door of the house slam shut. We both freeze and stare at each other, and then immediately start giggling.

"Kurt?"

It's Finn. Oh my god.

"Shhhh!" Kurt puts his hand over my mouth and quickly rinses the last of the soap off of my legs. "Shhh."

We're both still giggling. "Shhh!"

"Kurt? Your dad wants to take us all out for dinner! Are you home?"

Kurt turns off the water, and calls, "I'm in the shower, Finn! I'll be out in a minute!"

We both get out of the shower, still muffling our giggles.

Finn calls, "Okay, well hurry! He's meeting us all at breadsticks in fifteen minutes!"

Tripping over each other and still giggling, we get out of the shower.

We've left our clothes in Kurt's bedroom, and there's only one towel in this bathroom.

We hear Finn calling for me, and Kurt whispers, "If he goes downstairs to look for you, we'll make a run for it."

I nod, and we dry each other off quickly with the towel.

We listen carefully and don't hear Finn anymore, so we hold the towel around both of our waists just in case, and quietly open the door.

We sneak quickly across the hallway, trying to contain our laughter.

The door to the basement is across the hall from Kurt's bedroom, and of course Finn comes upstairs when we're about halfway there.

He does a double take when he sees us, and then snaps his eyes shut. "Oh my god." He closes his eyes, turns around and almost falls down the stairs.

Kurt and I make a break for his room and then dissolve into outright hysterical laughter, closing the door behind us.

"Why? _Why?_ Oh my god, you guys. _WHY_?"

Kurt and I scramble to get dressed and do each others' hair, listening to Finn moan and mumble from the living room the whole time.

"I think we scarred him for life," Kurt says, obviously pleased with himself.

I say, "He'll get over it. Hurry. Your dad is waiting."

Kurt goes a little pale, and finishes straightening my tie. "Oh my god." He rushes to the living room.

"If you say _one word_ to Dad…" he says, pointing at Finn in warning.

Finn grimaces. "What? Oh _God_, Kurt. Why would I do that? I don't want to ever think about this again!"

I say, "Oh come on. It's not like you walked in on us doing it or something."

He groans. "Can we just not talk about this? There are some things a guy just doesn't need to know about his brother."

Nodding, Kurt and I follow Finn out the door to meet Burt and Carole and Breadstix, still giggling and holding hands.


	82. I am living in agonizing pain

Everyone is super pleased to have me back at school on Monday, and even more pleased that my voice is back to full strength, and my lungs are well enough to stand up to dancing.

Regionals are two days away, and our rehearsal today goes perfectly. We don't know very much about our competition, but we're confident about our own performances, so all there is left to do now is practice practice practice, and hope for the best.

But as I'm walking to the coffee shop with Kurt, Finn, Rachel, Tina, and Kurt after rehearsal, my phone rings.

"Sorry guys. I'll catch up with you," I say, stopping and answering my phone.

It's Dr. Howard. "Good news," he tells me, "I have an opening for your surgery on Wednesday."

The cramps in my hand have been getting worse by the day, so I'm glad to hear it. I am very very ready not to be in pain anymore.

"Awesome!"

He says, "Absolutely. So we're going to need you to check into the hospital at about seven in the morning, alright? Don't eat anything after midnight."

I say "Cool."

"Great. I'll see you then!"

And then I remember Regionals. "Wait!" I say, "This Wednesday?"

"Yeah, as in two days from now."

Fuck fuck fuck.

"I have a show choir competition that day. Is there any other day we can do it?"

Dr. Howard is silent for a moment, and I think he'd judging me. He says, "Blaine, this surgery could save your hand. The sooner we do it, the better. I might not have another opening for weeks."

I swallow. Rachel is going to kill me. But I can't turn this down. I say, "Okay. Thanks Dr. Howard. I'll see you on Wednesday."

"I'll see you then, Blaine."

I put my phone back in my pocket, and hurry to the coffee shop, where Kurt is already ordering me my favourite drink.

I sit down with my friends, and say, "Uh… so you guys are going to be really mad at me."

"Why?" Mike passes me part of his brownie.

I say, "That was my doctor on the phone. He's scheduled my surgery for the same day as Regionals. I'm not going to be able to perform."

Rachel spits out some of her coffee. "_What?" _

Tina's jaw drops. "Are you kidding me?"

I say, "I'm sorry! But I know you guys have already practiced it without me. You'll be fine."

Mike says, "You can't be serious. You can't just bail on us now! We just got you back. What kind of surgery is it? Can't it wait?"

Kurt snaps, "He wouldn't miss Regionals if it wasn't important, Mike."

"Well, you're _obviously _healthy enough to sing and dance," Rachel says, "We _just_ saw you in action. So I'm sorry, but it's really selfish of you to just abandon all of us now after we were so understanding about you missing and _entire week_ of rehearsals."

Putting his arm around me defensively, Kurt says, "Don't be a bitch, Rachel. We can do this without him."

Tina asks, "Well what kind of surgery is it? I thought you were all better."

I say, "I have an old injury in my hand that needs repairing. This could be the only opening for months."

"So wait a few months," Rachel says, "Blaine, this is our chance to go to Nationals again."

Irritated, I say, "Rachel, I'm aware of what Regionals means. I am living in _agonizing_ pain right now. Do you see this?"

I put my hand on top of the table. It's cramping up as I speak, fingers contorting and twitching, veins popping out.

Kurt gasps a little, and says, "I didn't know it was so bad, Blaine!"

Even Finn looks at little disturbed. My hand clearly has a mind of its own right now, and I put it back under the table. "This surgery could save my hand, Rachel. The longer I wait, the more my nerves will die."

She looks taken aback. "I didn't know!" she says.

I say, "If I don't get this surgery soon, I could lose all function in my hand."

"Okay!" she says, "I get it! I'm sorry."

Mike says, "We can do Regionals without you, Blaine."

Kurt nods. "Absolutely we can. You just worry about getting through the surgery."

I feel a little embarrassed for my self-defensive outburst, but I'm mollified by their acceptance of my inevitable absence at Regionals. "Good," I say, "You guys will be fine at Regionals without me."

But I can tell that even Kurt is still disappointed, if not a little annoyed, that I won't be there.


	83. New version of a family

I show up at the hospital bright and early on Wednesday morning, and I'm in a shitty mood.

The glee club is being very understanding and supportive of my Regionals absence, now that I've explained fully to the whole group why I need to get this surgery. They're all sending me good luck texts and assuring me that it won't be my fault if they don't win Regionals.

But the texts don't make me feel much better. I'm not quite cocky enough to believe that my absence will be significant enough to cost them the competition, since I only had a two-bar solo anyway, but the idea of everyone having that magical, exhilarating, bonding experience of performance without me is bumming me out. I hate missing out on stuff. I'm a natural attention whore. I like to be in the middle of things. I like to be in the know. I like to be a part of the energy and wonder that groups like that get to experience before stepping out on the stage.

I really like to perform.

And right now, I guess I'm in a bit of a funk. I'm a little depressed, or stressed out, or something. I could really use the natural high of performance to snap me out of it.

I also can't help shake the feeling that nobody would be being as supportive of me right now if they didn't fear Kurt's wrath. I'm still kind of the new kid in the choir, and lately all I've been doing is causing drama.

I just hope to god that they win Regionals, so that I can prove myself for Nationals.

Most of my morning is spent being prepped for the surgery. A nurse goes into detail about what the surgeon will be doing, and what all of the possible outcomes will be.

What it comes down to is that there's a ten percent chance that my hand will end up completely paralyzed, and a ten percent chance that I could regain some motion in my currently paralyzed fingers.

But the most likely outcome will be that he will stop the pain, and I'll end up with about the same amount of function in my hand as I do now.

No matter what, it'll be a few days before I've healed enough to know for sure.

And I'll have to do weeks of physical therapy.

Anyway, I'm a mess right now, trying to convince myself that easing the pain is all that really matters.

When really I'm hoping beyond hope that by some miracle, Dr. Howard will fix my hand completely, and I'll go back to the violin.

And I'm terrified that something will go wrong, and I'll have to live the rest of my life completely one-handed.

And I wish Kurt were here, but that's just me being selfish.

And a little lonely.

They take me into the operating room sometime around noon.

I'm not exactly a rookie at surgery, or at going into surgery alone, but it's still scary as fuck.

When I wake up hours later, fuzzy and weird from the anesthesia and morphine, Kurt is sitting by my bed, still wearing his Regionals costume, and holding a single long-stemmed rose in his hand.

I murmur, "Did you win?"

He looks up and jumps to his feet. "You're awake! How do you feel? Does it hurt? Should I get a nurse?"

I stare at him. I'm having a bit of tunnel-vision from all of the drugs I'm probably under, and he looks farther away than his voice sounds.

"Did you win?" I ask again.

"Did we… oh! Yeah, yeah, we won. First place. Everyone's at our house celebrating."

I smile and feel a wave of relief wash over me. "Congratulations," I say, "So awesome."

A nurse comes by and checks me over, and I notice the complete numbness in my hand for the first time. It's wrapped up in bandages and a sling, and I can't feel a thing.

"Should I be able to feel it?" I ask, suddenly terrified.

She shakes her head. "Probably not for a few more hours. Don't worry. Dr. Howard says that the surgery went very well."

I relax a little. She says, "When you start to regain feeling, it's important that you don't try to move your fingers. I know it will be tempting, but you need to give your hand time to heal before you start bending them. They're wrapped tightly enough that you shouldn't be able to, but please, don't even try."

I nod. She continues, "You can go home in about an hour. You'll have pain for a few days, but it should heal quickly. We'll give you some painkillers. I want you to come back in the morning so we can take another look, okay?"

I nod. I still feel kind of woozy, so I hope that Kurt is paying attention too.

Before I know it, I'm back at Kurt's house, and the entire glee club greets me happily. Any hard feelings about me missing the competition are gone now that their victory is confirmed.

I sit on the couch all evening with my arm in a sling, singing karaoke and enjoying the company of my strangely dysfunctional new version of a family.

We're going to Nationals.

I'm not going to let anything get in the way of us taking home that national trophy. Life can't throw anything at me now that I'm not ready for.


	84. He was my best fucking friend

We're at the mall, and Kurt and I are sitting on the edge of a fountain, holding hands and giggling. We're waiting for Mercedes and Tina to get done picking out soaps and lotions in the boutique across from us, and he's teasing me because I'd started sneezing after spending about three seconds in said boutique.

He giggles and kisses my nose. "You're the toughest guy I know, but add a little perfume, and you just fall to pieces."

I stick out my tongue. "I'm not in pieces," I say, fighting back another sneeze.

Kurt smiles and says, "Not quite."

I succumb to the sneeze and he bursts into giggles again. I pout good-naturedly, and he says, "Aw. My poor allergic baby."

"Do you two _ever_ stop flirting?

Mercedes and Tina appear in front of us, and Kurt and I both giggle and shrug.

Mercedes says, "Tina and I are going bra shopping."

Kurt grimaces. I say, "We'll meet you at the food court at noon?"

We like shopping with the girls, but the line has to be drawn somewhere. We're still men.

Tina and Mercedes wander off, and Kurt and I head down the mall with no specific destination in mind.

Since one of my arms is still in a sling after my surgery, I don't want to buy anything and be forced to spend the rest of the day holding a shopping bag instead of Kurt's hand.

We're about to walk into the CD store when I see a red-headed teenage boy with hipster glasses staring right at me.

My knees almost give out beneath me, and I drop Kurt's hand instantly, feeling the blood run out of my face. I stop walking.

"What are you doing?" Kurt asks.

At the same time, the boy approaches me, and says, "Blaine?"

Why oh why oh why did couldn't he have just ignored me?

I swallow the insane amount of saliva that is suddenly in my mouth, and choke out, "Hey Jackson."

He looks a lot better than the last time I saw him.

The last time I saw him, he was crying hysterically.

The last time I saw him, he was getting sentenced for assaulting me.

I feel dizzy. My heart is racing.

Jackson looks awkwardly at the sling on my arm, and asks, "How're you doing?"

A flash of anger pushes the dizziness away. "I've been better," I tell him.

"You uh… what's with the… your arm?"

"I had surgery last week," I say almost scared of how angry my own voice sounds, "They're still trying to fix the damage that _you_ did."

Kurt shifts a little, clueing in to what's going on. He steps a little closer to me, but I wish he wouldn't. The last time Jackson saw me with a man he almost killed me.

Jackson looks horrified. "You're kidding! Fucking hell. I'm… fuck. Blaine…" He sighs, obviously fighting tears, and I almost feel sorry for him. "I'm so sorry, Blaine."

I shrug awkwardly. The anger is dissolving and the panic is returning. I'm not afraid he's going to hurt me again, I'm just afraid of the memories that his presence is stirring up.

He was my best fucking friend.

And the terror and pain of the way he beat the crap out of me still wakes me up at night.

"Can we talk, Blaine?" He asks quietly, "I know things can never be… well, I know I fucked everything up, but… can we talk?"

I don't think I'm physically capable of talking right now.

When they came for me that day, I was nervous and sweaty and about to go on my first date with a boy.

Then there were fists and feet and the taste of blood in my mouth.

It lasted forever and it was over in an instant.

I will never stop hearing the awful, shattering words that they shouted.

I need to sit down.

Kurt puts his arm around me as I stumble a little and back up to sit on the bench a few feet away. My head is spinning. I can't breathe. My skin is tingling and I feel like I'm falling.

Kurt snaps at Jackson, "I think you should go."

But Jackson says, "Blaine, you have no idea how sorry I am for… for everything that happened. It's been torturing me. I just want to talk."

Kurt snarls, "You're giving him a panic attack, dude. Go. Away."

I shake my head, balling my fists and forcing myself not to fall apart. "Let him talk," I say.

I've been wondering how Jackson was doing for months.

He looks uncertainly at Kurt, who just raises his eyebrows threateningly and waits for Jackson to speak.

He stutters, "I'm not going to hurt you again, Blaine. Relax."

I grew up with this guy. He was there when my mom got sick, and he was there when I played violin for the President.

He was my best friend for fifteen years. And I don't think that anyone can completely erase that part of the heart dedicated to caring about their childhood best friend.

Even if looking at him makes them want to puke.

But I pretend to relax. Jackson says, "I know I can't change anything that happened, Blaine, but I just… I wish there was some way that we could be friends again. I miss you."

Kurt's jaw drops. "Are you kidding me?" he asks, but I squeeze his hand and he falls silent again.

Jackson surveys Kurt nervously. "Is this your boyfriend?" he asks.

I nod silently. Jackson says, "I'm happy for you. He obviously cares a lot about you."

I raise my eyebrows. I still can't speak.

"I just… well. Call me if you ever think you want to talk about it, okay? I know how fucked up I still am over everything that happened, so I can't even imagine what it's like for you."

I want to tell him something, but I don't know what it is I want to say. I've wondered what I'd say to him if I ever met him again a lot. In some fantasies, I punch him in the face. In others, I just yell.

But I never expected to actually feel sorry for him.

I never realized how much I missed him.

He says, "I am sorry, Blaine. I could try to make excuses for what I did, but I know that that won't change anything. I was a monster. But in my heart, you'll always be my best friend, no matter how broken things are between us. So…just… I hope that things work out for you. You were always the best of us, and I think you always will be."

And with that, Jackson turns and is gone.

I turn to Kurt, stunned. He makes eye contact with me and sees the panic returning. "Okay," he says, pulling me in close and wrapping his arms around me, "It's okay. You're okay."

He doesn't ask any questions, because he knows me well enough to know exactly what I'm feeling.

He doesn't tell me that Jackson is an asshole and not to let him bother me, because he knows that it's nowhere near that simple.

He doesn't tell me that I should talk to him, because he knows that I have way too many unresolved issues to deal with to be ready for that.

He just holds me and tells me that I'm okay.

And when he tells me okay, I know that's he's right.


	85. Everyone's got to have a dream

When they finally let me move my fingers again, it's not nearly as dramatic as all of the anticipation has made me expect.

They nurse unwraps my hand and tells me to bend each finger one at a time.

My thumb feels a little stiff, but it feels good, and I can move bend and rotate it in every direction.

My pointer feels almost normal.

My middle finger is still sore and it trembles when I try to bend it very far.

I still can't feel my ring finger and pinkie.

But the surgeon looks pleased, and they send me to my first physical therapy session with a promise that the more I use my fingers, the stronger and more agile they will become.

"And that goes for both hands," Dr. Howard reminds me, "Don't get discouraged. The trembling and stiffness will diminish if you work for it. I promise."

That's what they promised me last time.

But last time I was so depressed and angry that I decided punching things would be more satisfying than physical therapy.

So I start going to physical therapy five times a week, and I work as hard as I can.

I work as hard as I can on glee and on school and on being with Kurt, too.

And time starts to pass too quickly.

Today I get a phone call that the court date for the trial against my father has been set for June 11.

That's still more than two months away, but I've been so expertly distracting myself from thinking about it for so long. Finally having a definitive date for it all makes this whole thing feel a lot more real.

Two days after Kurt's graduation from high school, I'll be sitting in a court room, trying to get my own father convicted of assault and child abuse.

That's a bit too fucking real for me. I just want to snuggle with Kurt forever and ever and not have to deal with this.

I go to physical therapy and then to visit my mom.

Mom empathizes with me.

"Reality is a bitch. I think we both know that I wouldn't live here if I knew how to deal with it."

I smile weakly.

She says, "But you're the strongest kid in the world, Blaine. Just enjoy the present. You've got a good thing going right now with your glee club and your boyfriend. Don't wallow in what's coming up."

That's my mother. Encouraging avoidance and denial.

But she adds, "Just make sure that when the time comes for you to face your dad, or for Kurt to leave, that you've thought everything through. You don't have to dwell on it, but you have to make sure you're ready, okay?"

I nod, but I don't really know how I'm supposed to ever be ready.

When I get home, I go up to Kurt's room, hoping for some cuddles and comfort.

He's sitting on his bed, watching something on his laptop with his headphones in. Tears are streaming down his face.

"What's wrong, Kurt?" I ask, hurrying to his side and forgetting all of my own problems immediately.

He jumps when he hears my voice, and he slams his laptop closed immediately. "Nothing!" he says quickly, putting on the worst attempt ever at a smile.

I sit down next to him on his bed. "Hey," I say, helping him brush away the tears, "Come on. What were you watching?"

Kurt hugs his laptop close to his chest, and says, "It doesn't matter, Blaine. I was just… being sentimental. How was your mom?"

I frown. He's looking at me with these huge, sad eyes, like he wants to say something but can't bring himself to do it. "Mom's great," I say, "But you're clearly not. Kurt, let me see what you were watching."

He shakes his head, but he lets me slide his computer out of his arms. "Don't be upset," he whispers.

I open the laptop and the YouTube video he'd been watching immediately starts playing again. His headphones are still plugged in, so I can't hear anything, but it only takes me a fraction of a second to figure out what it is.

The video is titled _Starling DeLay Student Artists Evening Recital, July 13, 2009. _

My fourteen-year old self is sitting on a stool on a stage with my violin under my chin, performing at a symposium at Juliard for some of the world's most renowned string players.

I'm playing a Paganini caprice, and I have a look on my face like I'm at such peace that it's spooky. I'd sort of forgotten that feeling.

Kurt lets out an audible sob as my bow stroked the strings a final time, and a huge grin appears on my past self's face as I take my bow.

My current self feels a little sick. I shut the computer. "How did you find this, Kurt?"

He says, "I was… I Googled _Blaine Anderson violin_."

I grimace. "Kurt, why? That part of my life is over."

He starts to cry harder, and I rub his back for a while as he collects himself.

"Ever since we met Jackson in the mall that day, I've been wondering what you used to be like," Kurt says, "I mean, before they attacked you. You used to be best friends with this guy, and now… well, I just started wondering what you used to be like."

I close my eyes and keep rubbing his back. He says, "And I figured that since you were so into violin, there might be video of you somewhere."

"But why are you so upset? You knew this about me."

He shakes his head. "Blaine, the internet is _crawling _with video of you playing. I've been watching for hours. You played at _Juliard_, Blaine. You played for the _president_. I knew you were good, but I had no idea… I mean, you were _amazing_. And when I watch the videos of you playing… I mean, it's like I don't even know the guy on the screen. You're magnificent. You're so… peaceful. And the music you make… Fuck, Blaine it's just really unfair that all of that was stolen from you."

I've been thinking about this a lot in the last few weeks since my surgery, so I'm not freaking out like I would have been if Kurt had brought this up a few months ago.

"Kurt, I know. It sucks. But it's not the end of the world."

He shakes his head. "You have a gift, Blaine. It's not fair to the world that you can't use it anymore."

"Don't even think that," I tell him, "Kurt, the world has no shortage of excellent violin players."

"I just feel like I can't possibly ever know the real Blaine. That look on your face when you're playing…"

I set his computer aside and say, "Kurt… I know that what you see online about me seems really impressive and glamorous and stuff… but if I hadn't had to stop playing, I would never have become the person I am today. The person you _love_."

He says, "But I feel like the person I love is a lie."

"No way," I say, "Listen to me, Kurt, violin wasn't a healthy thing for me—"

"Are you kidding me? You were a musical God."

"Just let me talk," I say, squeezing his hand, "I've thought a lot about this. You have to understand."

He nods, and wipes his tears away, giving me his full attention.

I say, "I started playing violin when I was three years old. Jackson's mom was my very first teacher—that's how we met. He's a violinist too. We grew up competing against each other. And if it weren't for him, I probably wouldn't have had any friends at all."

Kurt raises an eyebrow. I say, "I was obsessive, Kurt. Almost every memory of my childhood has to do with violin. My mom used to try to get me to play with the other kids or watch TV or do anything else, but if she left me alone for a minute, I'd be back with my violin. She used to make me help her cook; just so that she could keep an eye on me and make sure that I wasn't sulking back to my room to play."

I say, "I literally didn't do anything else. Why do you think I have so few memories of what my mom was like before she got sick? Why do you think I had no idea that my Dad used to hit my brother Cooper? I used music to hide from my life. It was a coping mechanism. My family was fucked up, so I ignored it by pouring every piece of myself into music."

Kurt says, "But you loved music."

I say, "Yeah, of course I did. And so did my dad. After mom got sick, and it was just he and I living in that house, music was the only thing that I could do to make him proud. I'd build cars with him, go to sports games with him, watch action movies with him… but I could always feel him hoping that all of that would turn me straight."

Kurt snarls a little. I add, "No matter how much I enjoyed watching football, I could just tell that he was resenting me for not enjoying women. But when I played violin and got recognised for my talent, he was genuinely proud of me. And I craved that pride, so I kept trying my hardest to outdo myself and impress him more."

Kurt is studying me carefully, and his tears have stopped.

I say, "I mean, I loved playing violin, and I still miss it a lot, but I didn't have a clue who I was or how to deal with anything in my life until I had to stop playing. Until I didn't have any distractions. It was just me, broken and lonely in a hospital bed, forced to face reality. The guy you met at Dalton was the result of that. Last year… it was like I'd woken up after sleeping through my entire life. After a lifetime of only caring about violin, I suddenly had all of this time and all of this energy to start caring about other things. I faced up to my sexuality, discovered that I could sing, figured out that I was actually good at talking to people… and then I met you. If you'd met me when I went to Bellville, I don't think I would have given you second glace. I'd have been too focused on music to even consider romance."

He says, "You've thought about this a lot, huh?"

Nodding, I say, "Only recently. I mean… you saw how much I freaked out last fall when Mr. Schue got me to play violin for a few moment. I was in denial for a long time. I didn't let myself think about violin at all, and if I did, I'd start panicking. But in the last few months… I mean, honestly, I could have tried harder in physical therapy. I could have learned to play with my other hand. I might not have ever been as good as I once was, but I could have tried. I could have still been pretty good. But I didn't try. And now I think that it's because I _wanted _to be free. I didn't want to be trapped in that obsessive world anymore. So I just gave it all up."

Kissing me, Kurt says, "I get what you're saying, and I'm so proud of you for coming to terms with all of that. But don't you think… I mean, I love to watch you sing, Blaine. You're an outstanding performer and your vocals are to die for. But there's something in your face when you play violin that I've never seen in your face when you sing…"

He pauses, and then adds, "Except when you were singing your Punching Bag song for us. It was there then."

I say, "I've been thinking about that too. I used to write all of the time. I wanted to be a composer. Lately, when nobody else is home, I've been playing around on your piano, writing, and working on some of my old stuff. I kind of want to start getting more serious about it, but I don't know if I have the nerve."

Kurt smiles. "I think you have the nerve. You're the most courageous person in Lima. And I would pay a lot of money for an album of Blaine Anderson's original songs. I would pay a lot of money just to go to a concert."

I laugh. "Well, I'm glad. I dunno. I mean, everyone's got to have a dream. You have Broadway. I know mine has something to do with creating music. I just have to figure out the specifics."

He smiles again and kisses me. "I feel a lot better now," he says, "Thank you. I just… when I saw those videos, I thought that you'd been robbed of something beautiful. It freaked me out."

I say, "But you're good now?"

He nods. "I still think you were robbed," he says, "But I'm glad that you've found peace with it, and I'm glad that you see it as a release rather than a loss. You're amazing, Blaine."

I roll my eyes. "No," I say, "You're amazing. I don't know what I did to deserve a boyfriend who cares so much."

We kiss again, and roll back onto the bed. I glance up to make sure that Kurt's bedroom door is closed, and then forget all about music. Kurt's presence and love are all that have to matter right at this moment.


	86. We are the best

"Have you thought any more about what you're doing next year?" Kurt asks.

We're celebrating the fact that he's just fucking _nailed_ his NYADA audition, and the last thing I want to do is talk about me.

Sometimes it feels like all we ever do is talk about me.

I say, "Let's not talk about that right now. Come on. This is about _your _future. And it's going to be awesome."

He smiles. We're at Breadstix eating pasta like carbs aren't a concern.

"I know, but you're part of my future, Blaine. And I know how hard it is for you to have to watch me get ready to leave you behind."

I shake my head. "Don't. It sucks that you're leaving, but I'll follow you as soon as I can. I won't let you feel bad about that when you're supposed to be celebrating. Come on. There's no fucking way you're not getting into NYADA. Your dreams are coming true."

Grinning, Kurt nods. He can be just as cocky as me sometimes. "It's crazy, isn't it? I mean, I've spent my whole life dreaming of getting out of here. And now it's finally going to happen. New York… I mean, seriously? I never thought it would really happen."

I say, "Of course it's going to happen. You're going to own that town someday."

He says, "It just sucks that now that I'm leaving, I finally have a reason to stay." He sort of half smiles at me.

"Are you kidding?" I ask, "I'm no reason to stay. I'm getting out of here the second I can. You know I still might go to LA for senior year. Cooper keeps asking me to."

Kurt nods. "You're not going to LA," he says, "You're much too much of a Momma's boy."

I grimace. "I know. But it's fun to tell myself that LA is a possibility."

He gives me a sympathetic smile, and says, "It won't be that bad here, Blaine. You have other friends who aren't going anywhere. And Dad and Carole will let you live here forever if you want to."

I nod. "Don't worry about me. I can learn to live without you. As long as I know it's not permanent. Don't you dare let me get in the way of you enjoying New York to the fullest."

He says, "Well, I haven't been accepted to NYADA yet."

I say, "But you're in at NYU. You're going to New York."

Shrugging, Kurt says, "Maybe I'll stay in Lima for a year if I NYADA doesn't happen. It's like your mom said back in October. There's no reason to rush into the future. We're young. I can take a year off."

No matter how hard I try, I cannot imagine Kurt being happy in Ohio without school and glee club to keep him busy. I shake my head.

"No way," I say, "I won't let you stay here. Are you crazy? You'd be miserable."

He shrugs. "We'll see," he says, "I mean, I probably got into NYADA anyway. But don't pretend that you wouldn't want to wait for me too, if you were in my shoes."

Shaking my head, I say, "I'd get the fuck out of Lima no matter what. Come on. I won't be responsible for you being miserable. I will _drag_ you to NYU if I have to. But you're right—you're almost definitely going to NYADA anyway. So let's just celebrate that."

He shrugs. "But really, you're allowed to be a little mad at me, Blaine. You don't have to be all supportive and nice about it. It kind of makes me feel like crap."

"What?" I gape at him. "You've been my guardian angel all year. After all the drama I've put you through, I'm not going to cause any more by selfishly hating you for following your dreams."

Kurt says, "Well, I think that you're allowed to be a little selfish after everything you've been through."

Laughing, I say, "Are you actually encouraging me to start a fight with you?"

He shrugs. "You haven't been able to box in a long time. I feel like you must have a lot of pent up aggression."

I haven't even thought about punching something for weeks. I say, "Nope. I'm good. Seriously. I'm not gunna pretend that I'm glad you're leaving, but I really am proud of you, and I really do believe that we're going to be just fine. Distance doesn't have to mean anything."

Rolling his eyes, Kurt says, "You are too perfect, Blaine. Too perfect."

I give him my most charming smile, and say, "You don't have to tell me."

Leaning back in his chair and smiling in satisfaction, Kurt says, "Now there's the Blaine Warbler Anderson I've been missing for so long. Welcome back, my friend."

I grin. "Blaine Warbler Anderson is dead, Kurt. I'm Blaine Kurt's Boyfriend Anderson now."

Shaking his head, Kurt says, "No no no. Don't define yourself by our relationship. You're just Blaine Anderson. And he's the best person I know."

I smile, and say, "Ditto, Kurt Hummel. We're the best."

"Such the best," Kurt agrees.


	87. And nothing's ever gonna bring us down

Rachel's dads are two of the most gracious, well-spoken and hilarious men I've ever met. Even if the gala tonight is a disaster, I'm grateful to Rachel for asking me to do this, just for the chance to meet Hiram and Leroy.

I've been rehearsing with them all week, and they've been nothing but wonderful to me. I'd never had a conversation with an adult who really understood the stuff Kurt and I face before I talked to them. It's encouraging to meet an adult gay couple in a long-term relationship, living in Lima and staying so awesome.

The charity we're raising money for tonight is called the Avonroy Foundation, and its mission is to help LGBT victims of violence and discrimination recover their health and dignity and find safety and courage. Not everyone is lucky enough to have places like Dalton or people like Kurt to help them get through it all.

The gala will raise money through tickets and a silent auction, and I will be the after-dinner entertainment. As far as anyone other than Hiram and Leroy knows, that means I'll be performing a song and returning to my seat. But I actually have two songs. And Rachel's dads think that they will be much more powerful if I provide a bit of commentary and background.

"I don't want you to think that we're using you," Hiram says, "But we kind of do want to use you. Your story could touch a lot of people. And the more touched they are, the more they're going to donate."

Leroy shushes Hiram. "Don't say it like that," he chastises.

Hiram shrugs. "All I'm saying is that when people come to these galas… well, if you're familiar at all with classical rhetoric, what we need is an emotional appeal. We need to get some _pathos_ flowing."

Leroy pats my shoulder. He explains, "People need to feel a connection to the cause they're supporting. A young, handsome, talented boy standing up on the stage relating his tragic story of assault and abuse between heart-wrenching original songs is going to make them feel that connection."

He says, "Now, if you aren't comfortable with it, we'd never dream of forcing you into it. But you know how many people you could help."

Two months ago when I agreed to do this gala, the mere idea of getting on the stage and singing was overwhelming, but now I can't see the harm in helping raise awareness about what people like me all over the world are facing.

I say, "It's okay. I want to help people. If that means being your poster boy for an abused gay kid, I'm happy to do it."

Hiram and Leroy grin. "That's the spirit."

The gala takes place in a banquet hall at the casino, and there are a lot of very rich and influential people in attendance. I think that the Berrys are tight with every theatre professional and enthusiast in the Midwest.

"My dads throw these galas all the time for all kinds of stuff," Rachel tells me proudly, "People show up to schmooze and network. Half the time they don't even notice what the cause is."

I grin nervously. I hadn't really expected the crowd to be like this. I don't really know what I _had_ expected. All I know is that it's important to impress these people.

Kurt kisses me and squeezes my hand, trying to get me to relax. We eat the fanciest meal I've ever met, and we hear a speech from Hiram and Leroy about the Avonroy Foundation and its mission.

I do my finger exercises under the table and stay as calm as I can.

I love performing and I love crowds. I've never had stage fright. Nobody has ever accused me of being shy. I usually feed off of the energy generated by the mutual experience of music between performer and audience.

I've performed violin for some of the most discerning musical minds in the world. This room full of Midwestern community theatre actors, directors, producers, and patrons really shouldn't phase me.

But I'm a little bit phased.

Leroy says, "And now, for the big ticket event of the evening… Blaine Anderson. This very talented young man goes to school with our daughter Rachel, and his story resonated so deeply with Hiram and I that we knew he was the only person we wanted to represent our cause tonight. He's got some words and two original songs for you before we move on to the dessert and the silent auction. Give it up for Blaine!"

There's a round of polite applause as I straighten my bowtie and take the stage. Hiram gives me an encouraging hug before he and Leroy take their seats at the table with Rachel and Kurt.

I smile, and pick up my guitar from its stand at centre stage. I approach the microphone.

"Hi everyone. Let's give Leroy and Hiram a round of applause for arranging this wonderful evening."

There is more applause, and Rachel's dads wave their humble gratitude.

I say, "As you've just heard, we're here tonight to support the Avonroy Foundation on its quest to support and rehabilitate those of us who have been hurt because of their sexual orientation."

I take a breath, and continue, "Gay rights are being fought for all over the country, and I believe that we are making great progress. Even here in Ohio, it's no longer taboo for boys like me and my boyfriend Kurt to walk hand-in-hand through the mall, or share a kiss in a restaurant."

Every eye in the room is glued to me, waiting politely for me to make my point.

I say, "Every day, more and more people declare their support for the LGBT community. Discrimination against our community is met with growing outrage. More and more money is donated to help further our quest for equality."

Someone drops a fork and I look across the crowd, swallowing carefully.

I continue, "But through all of the hope and determination to strengthen our rights, those of us who have been hurt because of who we love are starting to get left behind. Countless organizations pour money into forging a better future for LGBT people, while all around the country, people are broken and hurting because of crimes that no amount of political lobbying can ever reverse."

I'm starting to feel more confident. "I think too often, we focus so much on fixing the system that we forget to help the people," I say. "A million dollars donated to support gay marriage isn't going to help the boy whose classmates jump him and beat him senseless for asking another boy to dance. That boy is scared and broken right now, and no matter how many people are fighting for his future rights, his injuries, physical and emotional, aren't going to go away without help."

Nodding as I see some people in the audience start to nod, I add, "A thousand people protesting LGBT discrimination with signs and shouts in the streets aren't going to improve the quality of life for the kid living in fear of his homophobic father's fists."

I say, "And that's not to say that the lobbyists and protesters and all of the brave people working to improve our future should be criticized. Far from it. But organizations like the Avonroy Foundation get forgotten too often. It's easier for people to get behind causes of hope and revolution than to help pick up the pieces of people's lives that our current society has broken. But the Avonroy Foundation's work is invaluable. The Avonroy Foundation helps the boy who got beaten up by his classmates, and the kid being abused by his father. This foundation helps rebuild lives that might not be able to be rebuilt without a little help. The world can be a lonely place when you're different, and the Avonroy Foundation is here to try to make it better."

Kurt initiates a round of fervent applause, and adrenaline is saturating my blood. I'm on a roll.

I say, "I've been the boy who got jumped up by his classmates. My closest friends beat me to within an inch of my life. Two years later, I'm still dealing with the physical injuries. I still have nightmares from the emotional trauma. And I didn't have a support system. I didn't have anyone to help me learn to trust again. I didn't have a place to go where I really felt safe."

I take a deep breath and say, "And I've been the kid whose father was so disgusted by his own son's sexuality that he resorted to violence. I lived in fear and shame, and I didn't know where to turn for help. I let the person who was supposed to protect me steal my dignity and alienate me from my real friends. And none of that is fair."

I say, "When you live in fear because of who you are, the whole world feels like a lie. Like you're just going through the motions, putting on a brave face and waiting for someone to call your bluff. You're a puppet, living the way the people you're afraid of want you to, because the moment you drop the act, they'll attack. And that's what the first song I'm going to play for you is about. It's uh… it's called _Punching Bag_."

My fingers feel strong as I begin to strum the guitar, and my voice feels stronger as I begin to sing.

_The spotlight holds me hostage_  
_You watch me shine all day_  
_A circle of light on a living stage_  
_A never-ending run of the same sad show_

_Nobody knows the man backstage_  
_He controls the spotlight _  
_He traps me on the stage_

_The spotlight is my safe place_  
_A shiny beam of confidence_  
_I play my part and take my bows_  
_Beyond the brightness doesn't matter_  
_Until the lights go down_

_Nobody knows the man backstage_  
_He controls the spotlight _  
_He traps me on the stage_

_Left, right, left, right_  
_Bam, slam, wham_  
_Hitting things is easy when the lights go down_  
_Fist, fist, wham, slam_  
_The punching bag keeps swaying _  
_When the curtain opens again_

_Nobody knows the man backstage_  
_He controls the spotlight _  
_He traps me on the stage_

_Fist, fist, wham, slam_  
_The punching bag keeps swaying _

My voice cracks on the last note, and I close my eyes for a few moments trying to collect myself while I strum out the closing chords of the song. When I'm finished, deafening silence fills the room for an instant, and then Kurt is on his feet applauding, and the rest of the crowd is a fraction of a second behind him in doing the same. I see Hiram wiping tears off of Leroy's face, and countless other across the room doing the same to themselves. Many people are whispering in their neighbor's ear and giving me looks of respect and approval.

At least, I think that's what those looks are.

I brush tears off of my own face, and set my guitar back in the stand.

When the applause stops and people sit back down, I return to the microphone.

"Thank you," I whisper. I clear my throat and say louder, "Sometimes the world can seem like a dark and heartless place. But it doesn't have to be that way. I was lucky enough to find sanctuary and support in my own friends and family. In my boyfriend and my mother and my school. These people taught me that nothing that happened in my past has to define who I will be in the future. They strengthened me and continue to help me move forward in my life. They taught me that I never have to be alone."

Kurt blows me kisses from his spot in the audience; he and Rachel are both in tears with their arms linked and their eyes focused solely on me.

I say, "But not everyone is as lucky as me. Not everyone has people to pick them up when they fall. And that's what the Avonroy Foundation is there for. They're there to make sure that people like me never have to be alone. So my second and final song will hopefully leave you in a more hopeful place. This song is called _Not Alone, _and it goes out to my knight in shining armour, Kurt."

I sit down at the piano, close my eyes, and start to play.

_I've been alone  
Surrounded by darkness  
I've seen how heartless  
The world can be_

I've seen you crying  
You felt like it's hopeless  
I'll always do my best  
To make you see

Baby, you're not alone  
Cause you're here with me  
And nothing's ever gonna bring us down  
Cause nothing can keep me from lovin' you  
And you know it's true  
It don't matter what'll come to be  
Our love is all we need to make it through

Now I know it ain't easy  
But it ain't hard trying  
Every time I see you smiling  
And I feel you so close to me  
And you tell me

Baby, you're not alone  
Cause you're here with me  
And nothing's ever gonna bring us down  
Cause nothing can keep me from lovin' you  
And you know it's true  
It don't matter what'll come to be  
Our love is all we need to make it through

I still have trouble  
I trip and stumble  
Trying to make sense of things sometimes  
I look for reasons  
But I don't need 'em  
All I need is to look in your eyes  
And I realize

Baby I'm not alone  
Cause you're here with me  
And nothing's ever gonna take us down  
Cause nothing can keep me from lovin' you  
And you know it's true  
It don't matter what'll come to be  
Our love is all we need to make it through

Cause you're here with me  
And nothing's ever gonna bring us down  
Cause nothing, nothing, nothing can keep me from lovin' you  
And you know it's true  
It don't matter what'll come to be  
You know our love is all we need  
Our love is all we need to make it through

When I finish playing, there's not a dry eye in the room. I take a bow and leave the stage only to be engulfed in a group hug by Kurt and Rachel. All eyes in the house are on us as Rachel lets go and backs away, and Kurt and I lean in for a long, teary kiss.

The applause seems to last an eternity.

* * *

_Disclaimer: Not Alone was written by and belongs to the wonderful Darren Criss. _


	88. I believe in human relationships

After twice-a-day rehearsals for more than a month and three day-long Saturday clinics to prepare, Nationals is finally upon us. Since more than half of our choir is graduating this year, and most of them want to pursue careers in the performing arts, stakes are pretty high. We all want to win this thing really badly.

Really really badly.

It's a four and a half hour bus ride from Lima to Chicago, and Kurt and I have prepared for the journey with plenty of Chapstick. We choose a seat at the back of the bus across from Finn and Rachel, behind Santana and Brittany, and diagonal from Tina and Mike.

We've barely been out of Ohio for fifteen minutes before Mr. Schuester investigates why all eight of us at the back of the bus are ducking from view behind the seats.

"That's enough!" he says, "You guys, that is _so_ inappropriate."

We all untangle ourselves from our partners and blush a little, looking up sheepishly at Mr. Schuester.

He's obviously trying not to laugh, and his eyes betray how endearing he thinks we all are, but he says, "I'm going to have to separate you all. Nobody is going to sit within four seats of anyone they are dating for the rest of this bus ride. Talk to someone you don't usually talk to. Move. Now."

Giggling, we all scramble to find new seats.

In the end, it's me, Joe, Quinn, and Rory sitting at the back of the bus.

I don't think I've ever had a real conversation with Rory, an exchange student from Northern Ireland, or Joe, a new kid who only joined the choir a couple of months ago, so I try to see it as an opportunity rather than be disappointed about missing out on my much-anticipated four-hour make-out session with Kurt.

Quinn tells us all about her plans for Yale next year, and I notice Joe sulking a little. He's got the world's most obvious crush on her, which I think is adorable, because she's two years older but I'm pretty sure she likes him back.

He tries to change the subject by asking, "What about you, Blaine? What are you doing next year?"

Raising my eyebrows, I say, "Chilling in Lima with you guys? I'm a junior."

Joe and Rory both look surprised. "I always thought you were the same age as Kurt," Rory says, "Wow."

"I wish," I say.

Quinn asks, "What's gunna happen between you and Kurt? I know he's going to New York."

"We'll be okay," I say, "We have Skype. It's gunna suck, but…" I shrug.

"That sucks," Rory says, "I know how hard it is to be separated from the people you love."

I nod. "Are you going home to Ireland this summer?"

"Yeah," Rory says, "But I'll be back in the fall."

Smiling, I say, "Good. We'll need your voice."

Joe and Quinn nod. "Wow," Quinn says, "I've been so focused on my own plans that I never even thought about how weird it's going to be here. You guys will have a whole different club."

I nod. It's going to be really weird. I don't really know if I care enough about glee to put another whole year of effort into it. Without Kurt…

Part of me would much rather focus on my own music and move on with my life.

While I drift away from the conversation into thought, they start discussing Nationals again. It's hard for any of us to avoid that topic for long.

When I tune in again, I hear Joe say, "I think we should have a prayer circle for all the teams participating. May God help us find peace with however the competition turns out."

I try not to roll my eyes, but Quinn's eyes sparkle and she smiles at him, obviously impressed. Rory looks a little uncomfortable.

Quinn says, "I'd rather just pray that we win."

"Being a Christian isn't—" Joe starts.

"I know," Quinn cuts him off, "I was joking. That's a cool idea, Joe. We'll get a few people together tonight."

Joe looks at Rory and I tentatively. "Are you guys… would you be interested?"

Rory raises an eyebrow. "A prayer circle?"

Joe nods, and adds quickly, "I would never ask you do anything that made you uncomfortable if you're not religious, though."

"I'm Catholic," Rory says, "But I've never heart of a prayer circle."

"Oh." Joe says, "It's a thing we do at my church where a group of us will join hands in circle for a few moments of communal prayer for a particular cause. Very powerful stuff."

Quinn is trying not to smile too much.

Rory looks a little skeptical and nervous. "That's… um… yeah, I guess. You uh… is this a Catholic thing?"

Raising an eyebrow, Joe says, "It's a prayer thing. Denomination isn't important. We're all god's children, right?"

I know enough about Irish history to know that Rory probably doesn't see it that way. "Wow," he says, "Yeah, I guess."

Joe frowns. "We all believe in the same god, Rory."

Nodding, Rory says, "I know. But I was raised in a very different culture. In Belfast, where I'm from, there are walls between the Catholic and Protestant communities."

Joe says, "I know that your history has made it hard to see eye-to-eye…"

"No," Rory says, "I mean there are literally twenty-foot walls built between the communities to prevent us from killing each other."

Quinn, Joe, and I all cringe a little. "You're kidding," Quinn says, "I thought that the troubles in Northern Ireland were over."

Shrugging, Rory says, "We'd like to hope they are. But the fact remains that I grew up fifty feet from one of the peace lines—one of the walls—and I've never once had a conversation with anyone who lives on the other side."

I say, "But that's not necessarily about religion, is it?"

"No," Rory says, "I mean, it's all political. Irish nationalism versus British unionism. But it's still… well. It might take me a while to get used to Joe's philosophy."

Joe says, "Fair enough. But do you consider yourself a Christian? I mean, what do you believe in?"

Rory says, "I… I believe in God and in Christ."

"And so do I," Joe says, nodding as though it were really that simple.

Quinn seems to be thinking along the same lines as me. She says, "But it is more complicated than that, isn't it? I mean, everyone has a different version of God. Even people in the same congregation of the same church."

Shaking his head, Joe says, "Everyone has a different _relationship _with God, but it's all the same God. Part of being a Christian is finding a way to relate to God that works for you."

I've never heard someone talk about God so openly before. I've never heard anyone talk about God with so little reservations.

Quinn says, "That's fair enough. I like the way you think, Joe."

I'd like to think that I'm comfortable with my own belief system, but this conversation is making me very uncomfortable.

"What about you, Blaine?" asks Joe.

I pause hesitantly, unsure of what he wants me to say. "Uh… I consider myself an atheist."

"Like Kurt," Quinn says, nodding and rolling her eyes. "He thinks that believing in God is like believing in Santa Clause."

I resent her tone a little. Joe's jaw drops a little. "How can you remain so courageous through what you're going through without faith?" he asks.

Shrugging, I say, "Atheism isn't the absence of faith, Joe. I just choose to place my faith in things a little closer to home."

"But you really don't believe in anything bigger than yourself?"

"Of course I do," I say, "I believe in human relationships. In the connective power between people."

Quinn looks stunned, and Rory looks fascinated.

Joe says, "So you're saying that people don't need God as long as they have each other."

"No. I'm saying that I we're more than the sum of our parts. Tell me you haven't felt the raw energy and spiritual wonder that our own choir can create just by believing in each other and working together for the same purpose. The chills we get when we create music together. That's more than human chemistry."

"So God is just people loving each other? But prayer and worship mean nothing?"

"I didn't say that," I say, "I think that if a congregation of people want to join hands and pray for a cause, the simple act of coming together and trusting each other will make that act worthwhile, even if I don't believe that there's a self-knowing, sentient God out there listening to the prayers."

"And what about solitary prayer?"

I survey Joe. He's got the most intense eyes. I say, "Joe, what do you want me to say? I don't believe in God as a deity or as a tangible entity capable of acting or thinking independently. I'm sorry if that bothers you. And if prayer is what you need to make sense of the world, then prayer has power."

He smiles. "No," he says, "It doesn't bother me. I think your belief system is fascinating. I'm not trying to make you feel guilty for what you do or don't believe. I'm just curious about what you believe."

The bus hits a bump, and we all blink a little, remembering where we are. I say, "Well, it's like I said. _People_ as a collective have power that individual _persons_ will never have. And that power is what I put my faith in, and that power is what helps me get through my life day-by-day."

There's a thoughtful pause, and then Rory says, "I seriously need to put more thought into what I believe."

Quinn nods thoughtfully, and Joe smiles widely.

I don't even know if anything I just tried to say made sense.


	89. We might actually become immortal

We get to Chicago at seven o'clock in the evening, but after dinner and an endless rehearsal in the parking lot of our hostel, it's almost midnight before we actually get to go up to our rooms.

The school has booked us into two eight-person dorm rooms at the hostel, which seems logical since there are sixteen of us in the choir, but it becomes problematic when Mr. Schuester says, "Girls will be in Room 302, and boys will be in 303."

"Hang on," says Artie, "We have nine boys and seven girls. That's not going to work."

Mr. Schuester falters. "Oh." He looks around to count us all. "Um…"

Puck says, "Just get Kurt or Blaine to sleep with the girls."

I cringe, and everyone groans. Kurt says, "That's not fair! We're gay, not girls. There's no reason to single us out."

Sighing, Mr. Schuester says, "Kurt's right, Puck. I have a two beds in my room. One of you will just have to sleep up there."

He doesn't look very happy about this proposition, and neither are any of us. We all groan and protest loudly.

Artie says, "Mr. Schue, that's not fair either. Sharing a room with the guys is part of the bonding experience."

Mr. Schue is obviously tired. He says, "Well, then maybe one of the guys will have to sleep on the floor. We can move a mattress form the girl's room."

"Hang on," says Sam, "Let's get back to this whole idea of Kurt and Blaine. I'm not sure we want both of them in our room. Who knows what they're going to get up to when the lights are out?"

"Hey!" I protest, "If Brit and Santana can sleep in the same room, so can we."

Rachel adds, "I'm sure they can keep their hands off of each other for one night."

"Are you kidding me?" asks Finn, "I live with these two. You have no idea—ow!"

Kurt kicks him in the shins, and he shuts up. I blush, and everyone laughs.

"Make Kurt or Blaine sleep in the girls' room, and send Brit or Santana into the guys room."

"Are you kidding me? I think there are like two guys in the choir that Brit or Santana haven't slept with."

"Well if the gays are allowed to share a room with their partners, why can't we? I want to be with Tina."

"Maybe Kurt _and_ Blaine should be in the girls' room. Do we want them watching us change?"

"Or—"

"_Enough!" _says Mr. Schuester, "You guys are being ridiculous. We have about six hours to sleep before we're leaving for the competition venue. I trust all of you to be respectful of your friends' comfort zones. Now I need one volunteer from the guys to sleep in the girls' room. It's bunk beds, guys. It's not like any of you will share a mattress."

I put up my hand. "I'll stay with the girls," I say.

I know that the boys will feel more comfortable without me and Kurt in the same room, and I know the girls will be more comfortable sharing a room with a boy who isn't attracted to girls. And Kurt is much too stubborn to be labeled a girl for the millionth time in his life.

"Thank you, Blaine," says Mr. Schuester, looking relieved, "Now go to bed. I need you all as well rested as possible for tomorrow."

We all drag our bags into the rooms and choose a bed. It barely takes us any time at all before we're all in our pajamas and under the covers with the lights turned out.

There's about three minutes of silence before—

"Oh my god, I can't stand this."

"There's no way I'm sleeping tonight."

"Someone talk to me before I start freaking out."

"I think someone died on this mattress."

"I'm hungry."

"My fingers won't stop trembling."

"I can't believe Nationals are tomorrow."

We all start talking at once, and then everyone starts giggling and sits up in their beds.

Santana says, "We should order pizza."

Sugar says, "Let's play Truth or Dare."

Rachel says, "Oh my god you guys, we need to sleep! Tomorrow's the most important day of our lives."

"Relax, Rachel," says Tina, "Lying in bed stressing out isn't going to do anyone any good."

Before we know it, we're all sitting in a circle on the floor, feasting on snacks from the vending machine downstairs and talking about boys.

Somehow in my life, I've managed to avoid being included in girl talk up until this point, and I can't say that I'm sorry I've been missing out.

But it's so giggly and fascinating that I can't make myself stop listening.

"If you could date anyone in the school _besides_ the person you're already dating, who would it be?"

"If you were a guy, which girl would you date?"

"Who was your first kiss?"

"Have you ever cheated on anyone?"

They giggle and they're fascinated by each others' answers and they tease each other and they just keep talking and talking about things that seem so unimportant and yet somehow vital at the same time.

Maybe my dad was right. I need to spend more time around girls. I clearly do not understand them at all.

"You're being quiet, Blaine," says Sugar, "That's so unlike you!"

I jump a little and laugh sheepishly. "Don't mind me," I say, "I'm just experiencing a bit of culture shock over here. Girls are weird."

They all giggle loudly, and Santana says, "That's what I've been saying for years."

Rachel says, "We really should be in bed."

This only makes the girls giggle louder.

I mean, me and Kurt are giggly in general, but this is ridiculous.

But everyone does go to bed after that, and sleep does come a lot more easily now that we've exhausted ourselves with gossip and laughter.

Nationals is in the morning, and I think we might actually win.

I think we might actually become immortal just from the sheer communal ecstasy we're going to feel tomorrow up on that stage.

I wouldn't mind at all if the New Directions became infinite.


	90. There's nothing more important than that

We're up at the crack of dawn in order to get to the theatre with enough time to get into our costumes and warm up before the first round of performances. We're the first choir scheduled to perform, so naturally we're all freaking out, but we're lucky not to have too much time to let our anxiety get the best of us before we find ourselves up on that stage.

I don't have any solos in our first round songs, so I get to really appreciate how ridiculously talented our soloists are. I spend so much time just hanging out with these people that it's easy to forget that they're all going to be superstars.

I dance and sing backup and feel like everyone on this stage is a better person just for being near these people while they're singing for a crowd like this.

We come off stage after our last song with all of our senses tingling. The applause is thunderous and Rachel's last perfect note is still hanging in the air.

Mr. Schue herds us back to our dressing room as quickly as possible. It's a tiny room, barely big enough for all of us to comfortably stand in, but Mr. Schue insists upon rehearsing our songs for the final round, even though we won't even know if we've made it through for hours.

Finally, when our performance high has been completely killed by close quarters and sweat, Mr. Schuester says, "Go. Watch the performances. Find some lunch. Explore Chicago. Have some fun. I will text all of you the moment the callback sheet goes up."

We all sigh with relief and get out of the room faster than we've done anything in our lives.

"Oh my god," says Kurt, "I need a fucking shower."

Wiping sweat off of my face, I say, "Me too. That was awful."

Finn overhears us and says, "Oh please, for the love of god, don't shower together."

Kurt and I giggle, and Rachel gives us a weird look.

Most of our choir hits the showers to recover from the cramped, sweltering rehearsal and take a few private moments to clear our heads and prepare ourselves for whatever is yet to come today.

After showering, Kurt and I try to sit with our friends in the audience and check out the competition, but the anticipation gets to be just way too much, so we sneak out and sit by the bulletin board where the list of finalists will go up.

We sit there for about three minutes before we realize that the anxiety is even worse out here, so we leave the theatre and walk down some random Chicago street.

We end up in a café sipping coffee and giving each other pep talks. And when the caffeine only increases our nerves, we go back to the theatre and break into a props room for some solitude.

Some solitude and some sex.

Our pants are barely back on when Santana and Brittany stumble through the door, giggling and clearly hoping to engage in the same sorts of activities as Kurt and I have just completed.

When they see us, they freeze for a tiny moment and then start giggling even louder. "Were you guys just—" Sanatana grins widely. "Oh, you two are naughty."

Raising my eyebrows, I say, "Like you should talk."

Brittany nods, and Santana says, "Speaking of which… you guys about done here?"

Kurt and I leave the room, giggling and trying not to think about what Santana and Brittany might be about to get up to.

"There's still half an hour before the list could go up," Kurt groans, checking his watch, "This is _torture_."

I squeeze his hand. "We can do this. Let's go find the others."

But as we approach our dressing room again, my phone starts ringing.

I pull it out of my pocket and smile. "It's my mom," I say.

Kurt grins. "Okay. You talk to Mommy. I'll meet you in there."

I answer the phone and sit down in the corner of a deserted hallway to talk.

"How're you doing, sweetie? Big day!"

I say, "It's going okay, Mom! We performed better than we ever have. Now we're just waiting to see if we made it through to the next round."

"You sound nervous."

"Of course I'm nervous. This is _Nationals_."

She laughs quietly. "I know. But you're going to win, honey. I don't care what place you come in. You're a winner."

Rolling my eyes a little, I say, "Thanks Mom. I know stressing out isn't going to change anything, but I can't help it. I really want to get back on that stage."

"You have a solo in the song you'll sing in the next round, huh?"

The competition rules are that you can't showcase the same performers in both rounds of the competition. So since all of the senior had solos in the first round, the juniors get our chance in the second.

"Yeah. But that's not the only reason I want to make the top ten."

She says, "Of course not. You want to win the competition. For all of your friends."

"Exactly. And for me."

"And for you," she agrees.

We talk for almost an hour as I watch most of the choir come down the hall and wave at me as they return to our dressing room.

She gives me the best pep talk I've ever had, and by the end of our conversation, I'm feeling calm and collected again.

"Sweetie, I'm so proud of you. You know how proud I am of you, right?"

I say, "Of course you are. And I know."

"You're so strong. I don't know where you got that from."

"I got it from you, Mom."

She sounds like she's crying, and my stomach drops. "I just wish I was able to be a bigger part of your life. I know I've let you down."

"Mom, I would never have gotten through this year without all of your pep talks and hugs."

Sometimes I don't think my mom has any idea how special she is.

"I know we're close," says Mom, "But I just… I hope you know how sorry I am. For not being strong enough to protect you from your dad. For not being able to be there for you when you've needed me. I know me being… the way I am… I know it's been hard on you."

The way she's talking can't be healthy, and I'm afraid that she's about to take another turn for the worse.

"Mom, I know how hard you've tried. Stop beating yourself up about things you can change. You're the only family I've got who has always been there for me. There's nothing more important than that."

She's starting to sound calmer. She says, "I love you, Blaine. You are going to do incredible things. And I'm so proud if I've helped you get there. No matter what happens today, I'm proud of you. Just remember that."

I say, "I'll be singing for you if we get to go back on stage, Mom. So keep your fingers crossed for us, and I'll show you the tapes when we get home, okay?"

"Okay," says my Mom, as the dressing room door opens, and Mike calls for me to join them.

I say, "I gotta go, Mom. Thanks for calling. I love you!"

"I love you, Blaine."

I hang up the phone and go back into the dressing room.

The room practically explodes as I enter it.

"WE'RE IN THE FINALS!"


	91. Forever has to overlap with reality

I get mobbed by a celebrating glee club in the middle of a tiny dressing room. Everyone is jumping, screaming, telling each other not to scream, hugging, dancing, grinning, and generally more joyful than I think we've ever been before.

We're in the finals.

We could actually win this thing.

And even if we don't… we're one of the top ten glee clubs in the country.

That might not mean much to some people, but it means a lot to us.

The air is thick with relief.

The air is also thick with hairspray, body odour, and everything else that accumulates in an unventilated dressing room full of nervous teenagers who have just spent the last half hour primping and preparing for a performance they might not have to give.

My asthma starts freaking out about ten seconds after I enter the room.

Rachel kisses me on the lips and says, "You are going to be amazing up there. Ahh! I'm so excited. We have to win this thing."

I nod, gulping a little and trying to separate myself from the crowd. I need some fucking fresh air.

Quinn grabs my hands and twirls me around a little. "Can you believe it? The finals!"

I grin and give her a thumbs up then turn away to cough. My coughs are tight and grating, and my stomach does a flip flop of dismay.

This is the worst fucking time in the world for an asthma attack.

I can feel my airways narrowing more and more by the moment, and it pisses me off.

Why the fuck would someone spray perfume in such an enclosed space?

Why won't they get out of my way?

I'm trying to get to my backpack at the side of the room to find my inhaler, but my giddy friends keep intercepting me.

Finally, Kurt give me a big hug and immediately jumps away. "You're wheezing!"

I nod. "Asthma attack… Just… get out of my way."

He jumps to the side in surprise and I push past everyone else to finally reach my backpack.

I keep my back to the room as I take my inhaler, trying to be discreet.

Kurt is at my side fussing over me immediately. "Let's get you some fresh air," he says, taking me by the arm and practically dragging me towards the door.

"Boy, I need you to stay here," Mr. Schue says as Kurt opens the door, "We only have about fifteen minutes before we have to go backstage."

I groan, but Kurt pushes me out of the room. I savour the cleaner air in the hallway as I hear Kurt saying, "Blaine can't breathe in here! We'll be right outside the door."

I sit against the wall with my eyes closed, gripping my inhaler in my hand and trying to keep my wheezy, constricted breaths as even and calm as I can. Kurt sits beside me and rubs my shoulders.

"Blaine?"

I open my eyes and realize that Mr. Schue has followed Kurt and I into the hall.

"Is everything okay?"

Kurt says, "He's having an asthma attack. Just give him a minute."

I grimace and nod in confirmation, starting to cough uncontrollably as I do it.

The rest of the choir is starting to trickle out into the hall now, and when they see me holding my inhaler and coughing my lungs out, people start to panic.

"Is he going to be able to perform?"

"Oh my god, who's going to sing his solo?"

I stop coughing and take another dose of my inhaler. The attack is already subsiding, but I don't want to speak too soon, so I keep my eyes closed and concentrate on breathing.

I hear Kurt saying, "The air in that dressing room was awful. Just give him a couple more minutes out here and he's gunna be fine. Don't freak out."

I nod to show my support of Kurt's analysis, and everyone hovers around me anxiously.

"Oh my god," I say, "If you stress me out, it's not going to help. Just give me some space."

They hear the irritation in my voice and filter back into the dressing room.

I keep sitting here with Kurt and Mr. Schue as my lungs open back up and my breathing starts to feel normal again.

Checking his watch, Mr. Schue says, "Okay, we have to go get ready backstage. Blaine… will you be able to perform?"

I nod. "Yeah," I say, standing up, "I'm good."

Looking skeptical, Mr. Schue says, "Are you sure? I don't want you to overdo it…"

I say, "Seriously. I'm good."

The whole choir seems anxious as we treck across the building and start warming up backstage. People keep sneaking furtive glances at me, as if expecting me to keel over at any second.

There's a hint of a rasp to my breathing, but I think it makes my voice sound fuller, and I like it.

Still, when I cough to clear my throat, everyone in the room looks at me with huge, worried eyes.

"Okay, seriously," I say, "I know I have a tendency to have dramatic medical emergencies, but that's not going to happen today. Just relax. I'm honestly fine."

Nodding, Kurt says, "You can tell when his asthma's bad, because his eyebrows get all pinched together in the middle. He's perfectly okay right now."

I smile at Kurt. How does he know so much about me?

Before long, everyone has forgotten about my health, and we're all bouncing around with nervous excitement as the choir before us finishes their set.

Just before the MC announces as and we take the stage, Mr. Schue gets us to huddle, and tells us all, "We've come a long ways in the last three years. We've come a long say this year alone. I want you all to remember all of the good times we've had—and all of the bad times we've helped each other through. The New Directions is a family, and it will always be a family. No matter what the outcome of this competition is, we're all walking away from this year knowing what it feels like to be accepted and supported unconditionally. So use the power of that knowledge to go out there and put on the best show choir performance this country will ever see, okay?"

We all cheer and hug and get into our places off stage.

Our first song starts with me alone on stage, belting the first few bars of the song and savouring the polite scrutiny of the audience before me.

The rest of the choir comes on stage and the song picks up speed, and I feel like the seamless way our voices are blending is literally creating new joyous energy for the universe.

We dance with so much ferocious, determined, genuine commitment that it feels like we're in slow motion. Perfect slow motion, like we're all limbs of the same benevolent alien creature.

I feel tiny wires of supportive energy weaving their way up from the audience, joining forces with the huge ball of energy that is my glee club's flawlessness.

It's like something out of a cheesy sci-fi novel.

I focus all of my attention into getting every note, every dynamic, every movement, every facial expression, every detail right. Everything has to be right.

But somehow focusing so much on perfection makes it easier to experience the wonder of the crowd and the unity of the choir.

We are fucking infinite. This song will never end. We will sing and we will dance and people will love it and that will be our forever.

But that particular forever has to overlap with reality, so we take our breathless, giddy bows, and skip off stage.


	92. I need a memory of triumph and ecstasy

I'm convinced that it doesn't matter if we win or even place; the experience of performing was enough. Most of the choir seems to agree with me, but there are a few, like Rachel and Santana, who require victory in order to be fully satisfied.

And it's not like the rest of us would say no to a trophy.

We go sit in the audience to watch the rest of the showcase choirs perform.

"These guys are _good_," says Kurt quietly, "Yikes."

"We were _good_ too," I say, kissing his cheek and squeezing his hand.

Rachel hisses, "I just don't think it's fair that they wouldn't let the same performers have solos in both sets. These choirs are twice the size of ours. They have way more senior members to showcase."

"Hey!" protests Artie, "I think our junior members did _just fine_." He straightens his tie haughtily.

Finn nods. "Don't be a bitch, Rachel. You were getting solos when you were a sophomore."

Quinn adds, "Tina did _amazing, _especially considering that was her first performance solo."

Tina blushes, but nods her thanks.

Mercedes adds, "And Blaine was incredible, particularly since he was literally having an asthma attack half an hour before we went on stage."

"And Artie never fails to bring the house down," Mike adds, "So don't you dare blame any of them if we don't win."

"Oh, we're going to win," Santana says, "Don't even worry about it."

Rachel says, "I didn't mean anything against our soloists. I'm just saying. It seems like the size of these choirs gives them an unfair advantage."

I say, "Rachel, just relax. Nothing you say now is going to change the way we performed. Which was perfect, by the way."

Kurt nods, and so does everyone else. We watch the last choir perform, and then make our way backstage.

Backstage, ten groups of high school kids dressed to the nines sit in nervous huddles, hoping for the best news.

I know the stories of the kids in my group. I know how much winning will mean to us.

But every person in this room has the same expression on their face, which makes me wonder about the other choirs' stories.

I think that every choir in this room probably deserves to win.

But as modest and rational as I'm trying to be, I know that my heart might break a little if we get anything but first place.

I need to end this year on a high note. I want to remember my junior year as the year my choir won Nationals. I need a memory of triumph and ecstasy to outweigh the memories of horror that might forever taint my memory of this year.

I don't want the year I lost my virginity and fell hopelessly in love with Kurt to be tainted.

Winning Nationals… well maybe it's an immature way of looking at it, but I feel like winning Nationals will be enough.

Life is good for me now, if a little uncertain, and I know I shouldn't wish for more…

But come on, what person competes in a National championship and doesn't want to win?

They start calling the choirs back on stage, and the New Directions get sandwiched between a choir from New Jersey and a choir from Oregon. The MC talks for ages about the donors and the judges and the history of show choir before he finally gets down to announcing the winners.

None of us are really paying attention at all, until we hear the choir at the end of the stage start cheering and hugging each other. Our heads all snap up, and we look around in alarm.

"And in second place…" the MC continues, "Chorazz! From Jacksonville, Florida!"

Another choir starts dancing and whooping.

Every other choir on stage closes their eyes and grips each others' hands as we await the final announcement.

Rachel's grip is so tight on my bad hand that I want to kick her, but I get distracted when the MC starts talking again. "And 2012 National Show Choir Champions are…"

The anticipation is deadly.

"The New Directions from Lima Ohio!"


	93. Can you believe this is real

Rachel and Finn accept the trophy while the rest of us scream and hug each other and try not to get too dizzy with excitement. We're the last choir left on stage after the other file off one by one. The auditorium begins to empty out, but we all remain on stage, dancing and sobbing and congratulating each other.

Finally, after we've all finished crying and realize how hungry we are, we head back to the dressing room, discussing our options for a party tonight.

As soon as we're in the dressing room, half the choir starts changing into their street clothes with no concern for watching eyes, while the other half grabs their smart phones to tweet about our victory.

"Four missed calls?" Finn says, looking at his phone quizzically, "Shit. They're all from my mom."

Laughing, Kurt says, "I have a bunch from her too. They must be really anxious to hear our news. I'll go call them."

He slips out of the room, and Finn puts his phone away. I send a quick text message to my mom, and then start stripping out of my costume suit.

Kurt pokes his head back into the room as I'm doing up the buttons of my cardigan. I grin at him, but he ignores me complete, looking around the room with a strange look of panic in his eyes. "Finn!" He hisses, finally seeing what he's looking for, "Get out here!"

Finn stops talking to Puck and follows Kurt into the hallway.

Mr. Schuester calls out, "Can I have you attention, everyone?"

It's a mark of our respect for our director that even in our excitement, we all fall silent for him.

"I've personally booked a party room for us at the hostel to celebrate in. We'll order pizza, put some music on, and stay up as late as we want, okay? Just remember that we're back on the bus to Ohio at nine o'clock tomorrow morning!"

Everyone rushes to hug Mr. Schue, as Finn comes back into the room looking startlingly pale.

I see Rachel give him a questioning look, but he ignores her, and says loudly, "Mr. Schue? Can I talk to you in the hall?"

Mr. Schue untangles himself from the choir and leaves the room.

I want to follow them out, but Rachel stops me. "Something's going on," she says, "Give them privacy."

My heart starts pounding as soon as I know that Rachel has the same suspicions as me. "You don't think something's happened to Burt? Or…"

Rachel shushes me. "Don't." She says, "I'm sure it's nothing. Just… relax. Celebrate. We won nationals!"

But she sounds worried, and I can't quite get into it when the whole choir bursts into a round of _We Are the Champions_ in the dressing room.

After what seems like an eternity, Kurt, Finn and Mr. Schue return to the room. They all look a little shaken up, but they smile as soon as they hear the enthusiasm of celebration in the room.

"Everything okay?" I ask.

Kurt nods. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

I say, "You sure? You look a little pale."

Kurt shakes his head, grinning widely. "It's all good. Dad's got a congress thing tonight in Lima that he wanted us to be at, so I'm a little bummed that we'll be missing it, but it's all good."

"That sucks," I say, "But hey… we only get to celebrate winning Nationals together once, right?"

Nodding, Kurt very suddenly kisses me with more passion that I'm expecting. I respond immediately, and reach up to put my fingers in his hair, taking a step back to be against the wall.

"Whoa there lovebirds," Puck says loudly, "Save it for the broom closet at the hostel, will you?"

Everyone laughs, and Kurt and I separate, smiling a little.

Mr. Schue calls for us all to go out to the bus, and I take Kurt by the arm. We go out to the bus and chose a seat together.

Mr. Schue doesn't protest.

In the ten-minute bus ride back to the hostel, the choir sings about five victory songs at the top of our lungs, and pass the trophy through the bus about seventeen times. When the bus parks at the hostel, we explode out of it and into the parking lot with so much energy that I think the guy watching us from the front desk inside is terrified.

Mr. Schue leads us up to the party room, and we take a quick vote about what kinds of pizza to order. He takes Finn and Kurt across the street to buy pop and chips and cookies, while Rachel and Puck start fighting over a party playlist.

Laughing, I join Mercedes and Quinn in rearranging the furniture in the room to make room for dancing.

"Can you believe this is real?" asks Mercedes, "When I joined glee three years ago, we could barely get through a song without killing each other. Now we're National champions."

Quinn says, "Unbelievable. Blaine, you guys have some big shoes to fill next year."

I laugh. "I don't think we have a hope in hell next year," I say, "But we'll have fun, I'm sure."

I feel someone take me by the arm and whisper, "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Jumping a little, I see that Kurt has returned, and he's got a look of resolve on his face that I've never seen before.

"Sure," I say, "What's up?"

He doesn't reply, but he leads me out of the party room and down the hall.

We climb a set of stairs, and stop at the door of a room at the top. Kurt isn't saying a word.

I have this horrible, crunching feeling inside of me like something is very, very wrong.

The door opens to reveal a very sombre-looking Mr. Schuester on the other side. This is his private hotel room. Finn is sitting on one of the beds, looking like he's trying not to throw up.

Mr. Schue doesn't say a word as he lets us in. He just sits down next to Finn and gives Kurt an encouraging smile.

Kurt takes me by the hand and tells me to sit down.

I don't want to sit down. I don't want to hear whatever it is Kurt has to tell me.

"Can this wait?" I ask, "Come on… there's a party downstairs."

"Just sit down, Blaine," says Kurt, nudging me towards the empty bed.

I sit down, confused and nervous. If something has happened to Burt, I don't think any of us will be okay.

Kurt stands facing me, and takes my hands. He says, "Blaine…" He stops and takes a deep, shaky breath. He closes his eyes for a moment.

Finn is crying now, and Mr. Schue puts his arm around him.

I watch Kurt, starting to feel dizzy. Someone has to tell me what's going on before I start freaking out. Kurt's family is my family now, and if something happened…

I can't take this.

"Blaine, Carole got a phone call from your mom's care facility a few hours ago."

My heart stops cold. This isn't about Kurt's family at all.

He sees the sudden terror in my eyes, and he stutters to silence again.

I want to shake him and make him talk, but I'm frozen in my place.

Kurt gets on his knees so that his eyes are level with mine.

He says, "They… they say it was suicide. She slit her wrists. I'm so sorry, Blaine, but your mom's gone. She's dead."


	94. There's no way this is real

I feel Kurt's, Finn's, and Mr. Schue's eyes all boring into me as Kurt's words hang in the air.

"She's dead."

I'm waiting for the world to stop feeling like it's falling at the speed of light.

When I blink, I feel how full of stunned tears my eyes are.

I'm waiting for my body to stop feeling like it got hit by a truck.

I look at Kurt, who is waiting for me to react. He has the world's most heartbroken expression on his face.

But there's no way what he said is true.

"No," I say, "No, I just talked to her. I _just _talked to her."

Kurt says, "I know, Blaine. I know. I'm so sorry."

This is ridiculous.

I take out my phone. "I'm going to call her."

"Blaine, don't…"

But Kurt lets me dial her number. My hand is shaking so badly I can barely even hold the phone.

This has to be some sick misunderstanding. It has to be.

But as soon as I recognize the voice answering the phone as Mom's nurse Janet, I know that it's real.

It's the realest fucking thing that's ever happened.

I feel a wave of nausea, and the world starts falling again.

I feel like I'm dropping out of existence, and every organ inside of me is writhing from the inertia.

"Blaine? Is that you sweetie? I am so sorry about your mom. If there's anything—"

I drop the phone and run as fast as I can to the bathroom.

It's like I'm outside of my body, watching myself collapse beside the toilet.

I vomit every last bit of food out of my body.

I vomit every last piece of happiness out of my body.

There's no way this is real.

But the nausea and emotional steamrolling feels pretty fucking real.

Maybe I'm asleep.

Without realizing that I'm going to do it, I climb into the bathtub and turn on the shower.

I let the ice cold water rain down on my fully clothed body as I curl up into a ball and feel my chest start heaving with the most awful, uncontrollable sobs I've ever felt.

I am a crier. I've always been a crier. Everything makes me cry.

But I've never cried like this before.

I've never felt as though every single sob was a gunshot through my heart before.

I've never felt that if I ever ever ever stop crying that my body will stop being alive before.

There's no way that this is real.

I feel Kurt turn off the water, but I don't react to his touch or hear anything he's saying.

My mom was_ just_ telling me how proud she was of me. I _just_ talked to her.

I open my eyes suddenly.

I have to pull it together.

I stand up in the tub and see Kurt, Finn, and Mr. Schue waiting with towels to wrap around me.

All of these people have already helped me through more than they had to.

There is so much compassion and sorrow in their eyes.

I try to say something, but all that comes out of my mouth is a piercing, haunting scream.

And then I can't stop screaming until my eyes snap back shut and my knees give out beneath me.

I absolutely will not face this world without my mom.

"No."

I will not let this be real.

"No. No. No!"

If I just stay here in this tub forever, it never has to be real.

"No no no no no no no no no."

"He's going into shock," I hear someone say, "Let's get him dried off."

"I'm okay," I mumble, "Leave me alone."

But I let them pull me to my feet and change me into dry clothes. I let them wrap me up in a blanket and sit me down on the bed.

I say, "Why… how…"

My breathing starts speeding up when I try to talk and try to make sense out of everything.

My heart starts pounding.

I feel dizzy.

I feel clammy.

I feel weird.

"Breathe, Blaine," Kurt says, sitting next to me and rubbing my back, "Just concentrate on breathing. Breathe in…. breathe out."

I listen to his voice and follow his instructions and think of nothing else until the impulse to panic and cry is gone.

I have to pull myself together. I'm stronger than this.

My mom wouldn't want me to fall apart.

My mom…

There's no way this is real.

"He's getting some colour back," Finn says, "Maybe someone should go downstairs and tell people what's going on."

I groan and whisper, "No. Don't tell anyone."

Everything comes suddenly into sharper focus. Kurt looks a little green.

"Blaine, people are going to wonder where we are," Finn says.

I say, "We just won Nationals. Let them celebrate. I don't want… It'll just ruin everything."

Like everything isn't already ruined.

Everything is ruined.

Mr. Schue says, "Blaine, people will want to know."

I sit up. My head feels heavy, like I've been sick or asleep for ages.

It seems like it's been seven years since I was down there in the party room, full of excitement.

It's actually only been half an hour.

I say, "Tell them I'm sick. But I don't want people… worrying…"

I don't want to be the guy who they all have to feel sorry for again.

Kurt nods. "They'll only want to be with him. It'll be overwhelming."

Fucking hell, I just don't want to do any of this.

I don't want to say goodbye to my Mom.

I won't do it.

I won't.

Every part of my body wants to start crying again, but I just don't have the energy.

Kurt is rubbing my shoulders and it makes me feel guilty.

Finn says, "Blaine, my Mom and Burt are driving up from Lima. They'll take you home in the morning, okay? You won't have to ride the bus."

Thank god. I try unsuccessfully to smile. Instead, I say, "That's very kind of them."

Mr. Schuester says, "Blaine, do you need anything? What can we do?"

For a moment, I feel guilty about making them worry about me.

But then another wave of reality hits me, and I don't care.

"Just go down to the party," I say, "Have some fun. They'll all be getting worried."

For the rest of the evening, Kurt, Finn, and Mr. Schue take turns sitting with me with the other two make appearances at the party. Nobody tries to talk to me very much except to try and get me to eat and to drink some water.

I sit on the bed and alternate between crying hysterically and lying very still and quiet on my bed, thinking.

Everything is unbearable, but I can't make it stop.

Burt and Carole arrive at three in the morning, and Carole gives me some pills to help me sleep.

I take them willingly; anything to help me stop thinking.

I know it's selfish and ridiculous to even think it, but I _really _don't want to have to be the guy whose mom killed herself.

It's already exhausting to have to be the guy whose dad beat the crap out of him.

I just wanted to be the guy whose choir just won Nationals.

There's no way this is really happening.


	95. If I could just turn my brain off

Things feel different when I wake up in the morning.

My head feels… empty.

My arms feel heavy.

Grief.

Kurt forces me to eat some hot oatmeal, and I promptly throw it up in the toilet.

Carole tells me to take a shower, and I spend as long as I can under the hot water before everyone starts panicking and knocking on the door.

When I'm dressed, Kurt asks, "Do you want to say goodbye to everyone before we leave?"

I shake my head. I look at Mr. Schuester.

"Can you wait until you're back in Lima to tell people?"

I don't want them sitting on a bus for four hours dwelling on it.

But maybe it's presumptuous of me to assume that any of them would care about the suicide of a woman most of them didn't even know existed.

Mr. Schuester nods.

Someone wraps a blanket around my shoulders, and Kurt holds my hand as he, Burt, and Carole lead me down the stairs.

"Oh! Hi Mr. Hummel!" says Mercedes, who is clearly en route to breakfast when we cross paths, "What're you doing here?"

Kurt squeezes my hand tight, and Burt says tactfully, "We're just here to support the kids."

I try to keep moving. "Are you feeling any better, Blaine?" asks Mercedes, "You don't look well."

I don't say anything, and Kurt tells Mercedes kindly, "We're gunna take him home. Tell everyone we said goodbye, okay?"

Mercedes gives me an odd look, but says, "Okay! Get well soon, Blaine!"

I nod numbly.

I mean, obviously I always knew that my mom had problems.

I've always worried about her happiness.

But I always, _always_ trusted that facility to keep her safe.

I was never afraid for her life.

I always thought that she was in good hands.

And now she's just gone.

I don't know where the afterlife fits into my carefully constructed version of spirituality.

She always did had a knack for making me realize how little I knew myself.

And now I wonder how it's possible that I knew so little about her.

I never knew what was wrong with her.

I never knew why she only ever stared at the piano.

I never knew why she left my dad.

I never knew what happened between her and Cooper.

I never knew how hopeless she was.

I never for a moment considered that she might take her own life.

Maybe it was an accident.

Or murder.

Maybe none of this is real.

Why would she do this? I thought we were close. If she was so miserable at that facility, why didn't she tell me? I could have brought her somewhere else. I could have helped her.

Why didn't anyone help her? She lived in a place surrounded by people trained to help her.

Why didn't anyone do anything?

How am I supposed to get through Kurt's graduation without her pep talks?

How am I supposed to get through the trial against my dad without her support?

How am I supposed to get through a week without having her tell me everything I already know but am too stubborn to admit?

Mom's the one who tells me who I am. She's the one who points me in the right direction when I'm struggling. She's my best friend and my dearest confidant.

She knew I loved Kurt before _I_ knew I did.

I'm never going to be able to talk to anyone—not even Kurt—the way she and I talked.

Why would she tell me she was proud of me and then kill herself?

How am I supposed to look anyone I know in the eye again?

I don't want to be a sob story.

I don't want people to look at me like I'm broken.

I don't want to be broken.

I'm tired of being the one that everything happens to.

And I hate myself for considering my mom's suicide something that 'happened to' me.

I'm not even sure if it really happened.

It surely didn't really happen.

There's no way this is real.

"Blaine?"

Kurt tugs my arm a little, and I realize that somehow we've arrived in Lima while I've been wallowing in self-pitying sorrow.

I have no idea how we drove so far without me really registering that I was in a car.

I get to my feet and follow Kurt inside.

I still have a hotel blanket wrapped around me.

It isn't fair to drag this poor family through this with me.

"Thank you," I mumble.

I mean to say more, but I don't remember what.

Kurt gets me to sit down on the couch. "You should try to sleep," he whispers, stroking my hair, which is surely a fluffy disaster of curls right now. "I'm right here, baby. Whatever you need."

I know I need something, but I don't think he can give it to me.

I don't even know what it is.

The rest of the day passes in an agonizing haze of reverie, futile attempts to keep food down, and concerned whispers all around me.

It's just that maybe everything would be a lot better if I could just turn my brain off for a few days. Or weeks.

I'm tired.


	96. The agony of life

Everyone gives me my space for the rest of the day, but when I wake up the next morning, I know I have to start acting like a human again.

I take a long shower and then get dressed.

I sit on my bed and finally read all of the condolence text messages and emails pouring in.

Everyone I've ever known has sent me something.

It makes me cry, but it's not the horrible, end-of-the-world kind of cry that's been plaguing me since I heard the news about my mom.

It's still an awful cry, but it's a cry supported by all of the people who care about me.

When I go upstairs, Kurt and Finn are getting ready for school.

I completely forgot about school.

"I'll stay home if you want me to," Kurt says quickly, when I sit down next to him at the breakfast table and wrap my arm around his.

I shake my head. "Go to school," I say, "Bask in the glory of winning Nationals. You deserve it."

Carole smiles at me appreciatively and says, "I'll stay here with Blaine. We've got funeral arrangements to work out."

My stomach clenches, but I make eye contact with her and nod.

Kurt watches me make a half-hearted attempt to eat a piece of toast. He says, "I love you, Blaine."

I kiss him and say, "I know. I love you too."

I can't let myself try to empathize with how hard it must be for Kurt to see me go through this. It's too sad.

Finn gives me a hug, and says, "Everyone's thinking of you, bud. Anything you need, just ask."

I nod. Kurt and Finn leave for school.

The two bites of toast I just ate are twisting angrily in my stomach, but I refuse to vomit them up.

"Your mom's doctor is going to come by this morning," says Carole, "You should prepare yourself for that."

I feel a flash of some emotion I can't be bothered to identify.

"Okay," I say.

I can't think of anything else to say.

Carole asks, "Do you want me to stay with you while you meet her, or would you rather speak with her alone?"

"Stay," I say quickly, "I don't want… I mean…"

I can't seem to string a sentence together.

"I might get angry," I whisper.

Nodding quickly, Carole says, "I understand, sweetie."

I watch Carole put the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher. She's a pretty woman with a huge heart, and I know that she's got to resent me a little for putting her and her family through this, even if her care and concern is genuine.

It's just not fair.

When Dr. Harris arrives at the Hummel-Hudson home, I start to fall apart again.

She tells me, "Your mother left pretty straightforward instructions for her funeral. She left me in charge of the details. We'll have the burial Wednesday morning, with the memorial service in the afternoon. "

I stare at her. I don't know what I'd expected her to say, but I certainly hadn't expected it to be so… businesslike.

Dr. Harris says, "Her life insurance policy covers the cost of the funeral, but she doesn't have much left to leave for you. A few thousand dollars, maybe. Our lawyer is working out the details."

I nod.

"I only need two things from you. First, I need you to help spread the word. Everyone from the facility wants to attend the service, but I don't have contact information for any of your mom's friends and family outside of the facility. An obituary has been placed in the local paper, but if you know anyone who would want to attend the funeral, you should call them."

I swallow.

This woman is a psychiatrist. You'd think that she'd be a bit more compassionate when speaking to the son of one of her deceased patients.

All I want her to do is give some sort of explanation of what happened. I couldn't care less about the funeral.

She says, "And the other thing is that she wanted you to sing at the service. She wanted you to sing your song—_Not Alone_."

I get that wooshing feeling that the world is falling again, but I nod silently.

There's no way I'm going to be able to do it.

But I nod.

"So that's everything," she says, "I'll leave the details of the burial and service here."

She sets a pile of paper on the coffee table and stands up to leave.

"Wait!" I say, stunned, "You…" I can't figure out what to say to her, but I know I don't want her to leave.

Dr. Harris sits back down. "What is it, Blaine?"

I gape at her a little. There's no way she doesn't know what I want from her.

"Can't you tell me… what… why?"

She sighs and pushes her long dark hair behind her shoulders. "Blaine, I know that this a shock. But your mother was very sick and very unhappy for a very long time. I know that you and she never spoke much about the details of her condition, and I want to respect that in her death."

I say, "But surely you could have _done_ something…"

Dr. Harris says, "Blaine, we did everything we could to protect her. But when someone _really_ wants to take their own life… She lived there long enough to know how to disguise her intentions. Nobody suspected that she was suicidal again."

"Again?" My heart starts pounding.

"Honey, this was far from her first attempt. You know how unstable she was."

I fold my arms. "Then why would you let her near anything she could use to hurt herself with?"

"Blaine, she slit her wrists with a strip of metal that should have been used to bind the bristles to a paintbrush. God only knows how she pulled it apart."

I shake my head. "You should have protected her."

She says, "I know that it's not going to be easy for you to hear this, but the woman you knew as your mother was very different from the woman I knew as my patient. You were the only person in the world who could get her to smile or laugh or speak willingly."

I swallow. "But…"

"Blaine, your mother lived in all-consuming guilt and regret about leaving you with your father. For years. It kept her alive and killed her all at the same time. Now that you've removed yourself from your father's care… I think she just… she didn't have to worry more. And without the worry, she didn't have anything to live for. So she relieved herself of the agony that her life had been for so many years."

The agony of life.

How hadn't I realized how unhappy she really was?

"But you can't blame yourself, Blaine," says Dr. Harris, "You were her pride and joy. You couldn't have done anything about it. You were always exactly the sort of son she needed. I mean that sincerely."

Somehow I'm not crying, even though I feel like someone has stabbed a knife into my chest and is now carving pictures into my insides.

"Mental illness isn't an easy thing to explain or understand, Blaine. I know that you can appreciate that. I know that you're devastated by your loss, and I know that it's going to be very hard for you to adjust to life without your mother. But trust me as someone who treated her for almost ten years; the world wasn't a safe place for your mother. She lived in constant fear and misery. The end of her life was the end of her suffering. Someday you'll be able to understand that."

I shake my head. "Don't patronize me," I say, "I can understand that right now. I just don't know why nobody ever bothered to tell me how sick she really was. Why you didn't warn me. Nobody ever even told me what her diagnosis was. I spent my entire life visiting my mother in a mental health facility, and I never even fucking knew why!"

Carole is taken aback by my outburst; it's more than I've said since Chicago.

But Dr. Harris takes it in stride. She says, "Your mother didn't want you to know," she says, "She asked me not to speak with you about her illness. I had to respect that. She was your mother, and in order to ensure that the mother-son dynamic was preserved, she didn't want you to know too much she was hurting."

"Well, can't you tell me now?"

Looking uncomfortable, Dr. Harris says, "No. I'm not going to betray her trust. You don't need to know the details of your mother's past and illness, Blaine. What's important is that you come to terms with her death and learn how to live without her. That's not going to be an easy process. Are you seeing a therapist?"

Carole says, "We'll make sure he does."

Dr. Harris leaves, and Carole tactfully leaves me alone to cry.


	97. I've got people taking care of me

The only person I can think of to call about Mom's funeral is Cooper.

I do it alone in my bedroom where nobody will hear me if I start freaking out.

He answers on the fifth ring, right when I'm about to gratefully give up.

"Hello? Blaine?"

His voice makes my stomach churn a little. I haven't talked to him since the morning after I left dad's house when he told me to go to the hospital.

"Hi Cooper."

He says, "What's up, bud? I've only got about five minutes before I have to be back on set. We're shooting another insurance commercial."

I gulp, and say quickly, "Coop, my mom died on Saturday."

I hear people talking in the background on Cooper's end, but he doesn't say anything.

I add, "I just… I thought you'd want to know. The funeral's on Wednesday."

He still doesn't respond. I say, "It was suicide."

"Jesus Christ," Cooper says finally, "Blaine, I'm so sorry. I'll fly up tonight. Fuck. Are you okay, bro?"

I'm choking up a little, hearing the emotion in his voice. "Not really," I say, "But I've got people taking care of me. You don't have to come."

"Of course I have to come," he says, "She raised me, Blaine. Jesus. I can't believe this."

I say, "I'm sorry, Cooper."

He says, "I'm sorry too, Blaine. Fuck. You hang in there, alright?"

"Yeah," I say quietly, "You too. Call me when you get to town."

We hang up, and I lay on my bed with my phone on my chest for a long time.

I wonder if my dad knows.

Someone knocks on my door, and I say, "Come in."

Kurt pushes into my room and slides onto the bed beside me.

"How're you doing?" he asks.

"I just called my brother," I say.

He puts his arm under my head and around my shoulders. "How'd that go?"

I say, "He's flying out."

Kurt nods. "Okay. Carole said you talked to your mom's doctor. How was that?"

Shrugging, I say, "Awful. I dunno. There's just so much about my mom I never knew. It's… I dunno. She asked me to sing _Not Alone_ at the funeral."

"What did you say?"

"I said I'd do it. But I don't think I actually can. I don't know what to do."

He squeezes me for a moment. "It's impossible," Kurt says, "I know. I wish there was something I could do."

I say. "I'm sorry. I know this must bring back some hard stuff for you."

Nodding, Kurt says, "It does. But that's not your fault. I just hope that I can help you get through this."

"You are helping," I say, "If I didn't have you…"

I shudder, and he starts rubbing my shoulder again. I start to cry.

"Shhh…" he says soothingly, "Shhh. I'm here."

I say, "You should go upstairs. I'll talk to you in the morning."

I can't stand to listen to the pain in his voice as he tries to comfort me. His presence makes me feel guilty.

He looks at me sadly and nods. "Okay. Get some sleep, Blaine."

I nod, bury my head in my pillow, and cry myself to sleep.


	98. Grieve the way you need to

I'm awake before anyone else in the house on Tuesday morning. I eat a bowl of cereal alone in the kitchen. It's the first thing I've willingly eaten in days, and I'm glad that nobody is around to make a big deal out of it.

Cooper calls at six AM to say that his plane has landed in Columbus. He's renting a car to drive to Lima. I give him the address to Kurt's house and sit quietly on the couch, catching up on Facebook and psyching myself up to face my brother.

When Burt comes down for breakfast and sees me sitting there, he sits down beside me.

"How're you holding up?"

I'm tired of answering that question, but I know that there's really nothing else that anyone can ask.

"I'm fine."

Burt says, "I remember… when Kurt's mom passed… well. I know you must feel like your whole world is crumbling."

I shift uncomfortably. I really don't need my boyfriend's dad to give me a pep talk about how everything is going to be okay.

He says, "Take your time to grieve the way you need to. Don't let anyone make you feel guilty about being sad."

I look up at him curiously. That's not what I'd expected him to say.

"Blaine, I can't tell you how proud I am of how graciously you've accepted the… frankly _shitty_ hand of cards that life has dealt you these last few months. You're an inspirational kid. And I think you know that. I think you put a lot of pressure on yourself to maintain that persona."

I do tend to do that.

Burt sees my quiet recognition of the validity of what he's saying, and he smiles a little. "Blaine, what you're going through is enough to make people a lot older and more experienced than you break. I want you to promise me that you'll take all of the time you need to grieve and rebuild your world on your own terms."

I nod.

He says, "You're a walking, talking embodiment of pure charisma and grace, which is wonderful. I have a lot of respect for that. But it's going to make it too easy for you to pretend you're okay when you're really struggling inside. So please, Blaine. Talk to people. Take the time to reflect. This tragedy is going to stay with you for the rest of your life, but the way you cope with it now is going to determine the impact that carrying it with you will have."

Carole comes down the stairs and chirps her cautious good mornings, and Burt pats me on the shoulder, nodding encouragingly.

I whisper, "Thank you," as he joins his wife in the kitchen.

The doorbell rings, and Burt and Carole both look surprised, checking the time in confusion.

I stand up from the couch.

"That's probably my brother," I say, "Sorry. I should have told you he was coming."

"Oh." Carole looks at me searchingly. "Your brother. Where does he live again?"

"Los Angeles. And we've only seen each other once since I was eight years old, so forgive me if this is awkward."

They exchange glances as I turn away to answer the door.

Cooper looks exhausted, but he's just as handsome as ever. He's carrying a bakery box and a tray of coffees. "Hey little brother," he says quietly as I step aside to let him in and take the coffee tray out of his hand.

I wonder if he purposely came with his hands full so he wouldn't have to hug me.

But I lead him to the kitchen where I set down the coffee on the counter. "This is Cooper," I say, "Cooper, this is Carole and Burt—Kurt's Dad and step-mom."

"Pleased to meet you," says Cooper with a charming smile, reaching out his free hand to shake Burt's hand.

Carole takes the bakery box from him and gives him a hug. "I'm so sorry about your mother," she says.

Cooper looks surprised by the hug, but he accepts it's gratefully. "Well," he says, "Step-mother. But thank you. I'm sorry to show up so early in the morning, but I just flew in. And I come bearing breakfast!"

We all sit down around the table. I can't make myself eat any of the muffins Cooper brought, but I'm happy to be able to stomach the coffee.

"So… forgive me, but I'm a little unclear…" Burt says, "You're Blaine's step-brother?"

"Half-brother," says Cooper. "My mom took off when I was a toddler. Christine—Blaine's mom—raised me. Of course I guess you know what our dad was like."

I want to puke when I hear him mention my mom.

"And what are you doing out in LA?"

"Oh you know… trying my hand at the acting thing. I've done a few commercials and indie films… voiceovers… that kind of thing."

Carole says, "Well good for you. My son wants to be an actor too."

Cooper nods. "I've met Finn."

I'm surprised that Cooper remembers, but I guess I shouldn't be. He's sharp as a nail and better with people than I am.

I say, "Carole, you don't have to stay home from work again. I'll hang out with Cooper today."

Cooper says, "Oh yeah, absolutely. I would have been here sooner if I'd have heard. You've already done so much for my brother. I told him to move out to LA months ago, but… well, I think he's too fond of Kurt."

Carole looks grateful, and she goes to call work to let them know she'll be coming in.

Cooper keeps everyone's attention off of fussing over me through breakfast, and after Kurt and Finn have left for school and Burt and Carole have left for work, he finally hugs me.

He's a lot taller than me, so he has to stoop down a little. It's kind of awkward.

"Thanks for coming," I say.

He straightens up. "Don't thank me," he says, "I should have been here two days ago."

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. I don't know why it didn't occur to me sooner that he should know.

"Don't be," he says quickly, avoiding my eye contact.

"Are you okay?" I ask him.

He nods non-committedly.

"Well, we should do something," he says, "No sense sitting around all day and wallowing in it. What do you think? Mall? Waterpark? Bowling?"

I shrug. "I dunno, Coop. I don't really feel much like doing anything."

"Movies? Come on, Blaine. I know you must be completely shattered right now, but I know you've already had two days to mull it over. Right now you just need to get your mind off of it for a while. Let's go to the movies."

A movie wouldn't be bad. "It's nine o'clock in the morning, Cooper. There won't be anything playing."

Cooper checks his watch. "Shit. You're right. Well… surely there are DVDs in this house."

And so me and my big brother spend the morning watching Lord of the Rings on DVD while we sit awkwardly beside each other and ignore all of our emotions.


	99. I'm such an asshole

Cooper insists on taking me out for lunch, and he doesn't shut up until I eat a few obligatory bites of my sandwich.

"You look like hell, Blaine. We should go shopping. Get you something to wear tomorrow."

I grimace. "I have a suit."

Shaking his head, Cooper says, "You can't wear a suit you've worn anywhere else to your mom's funeral Blaine. I'm buying you a new suit. And we're getting you a haircut. Tomorrow is going to be the worst day of your life. You should at least feel good about how you look."

So I let him drag me to the mall where I get a haircut and a new suit.

As much as I hate to admit it, being around people and walking a bit feels good. It distracts me. Makes me feel almost normal for brief moments at a time.

Cooper checks into a hotel, and he and I go up to his room with a bottle of wine and the last Lord of the Rings movie.

"Drink," he tells me, passing me a glass of wine, "And watch the movie."

I obey.

We get through the movie and the bottle of wine without talking or crying at all.

When the credits start rolling, Cooper finds another bottle of wine in the mini-bar. He pours us glassfuls, and asks, "Do you think Dad knows?"

I've been wondering the same thing. "No idea," I say. "Do you think we should tell him?"

He downs his glass of wine in one go. "Probably," he says, "But I'm not gunna."

I nod. "No," I say, "Me either." I drink my own wine.

"You don't think he'll show up tomorrow if he hears?" Cooper asks, pouring more wine.

I say, "I don't think he's that stupid."

"True," says Cooper with more than a hint of bitterness in his voice, "He'd never risk a fight in public."

I nod.

"You never told me what he did to you," I say, "Or to Mom. Or what happened between you and Mom."

Shaking his head, Cooper says, "No, and I'm not going to now, either."

"Oh come on Cooper. I need to know."

"Not right now, Blaine."

I resent his tone. "Are you always just going to avoid talking about anything that means anything?"

Shrugging, Cooper swallows more wine, and says, "I'll talk about it when we're both sober and it's for a constructive cause. At the hearing. There's no reason for both of us to go through that right now."

He's infuriating. "Cooper… I don't understand you."

"Of course not," Cooper says, "I haven't been here for you. And I'm sorry."

"But that's the thing," I say, "I know that you _want_ to help me. You visited. But then you chickened out of talking about or doing anything while you were here. Still, you knew exactly how to help me that night I called you. You agreed to come down for the trial. You were on a plane the minute you heard about Mom. I know you care. So why don't you just talk to me? You're the only family I have left."

Cooper sets down his glass. "You were so young, Blaine," he says, "And so… consumed by your music. So disconnected from the world. You have no idea what it was really like. What _he_ was really like. What me and Christine went through."

I say, "So tell me."

He shakes his head. "I'm not stupid enough to open that can of worms when I'm drunk."

I don't even realize how drunk we are until he says it.

"We'll talk about it," he promises, "Just not now. We both need to process that she's gone. Talking about her past isn't going to help. Not right now."

And Kurt thinks _I'm_ an avoider.

I think that nothing would help me _more_ right now than to gain some perspective and understanding of my mother's life.

But I'm not going to push my brother.

But suddenly, he's throwing his arms around me in a sloppy hug that makes me spill my wine.

"I'm such an asshole," he says, suddenly crying without restraint, "I can't believe she's gone."

I hug him back and let him cry. I wish I could cry with him, but I can't. I feel like my body is completely sapped of all emotions. I just hold him awkwardly and eventually steer him towards the bed.

We sit down side-by-side, and he tries to stem his flow of tears. "I just… I mean, I never made things right with her. I… fuck. This isn't right."

I nod. "I know."

It's like that poised, charming guy who'd enchanted Kurt's family this morning has disappeared without warning.

And now he's just a blubbering kid, trying to make sense out of something nobody's ever going to make sense out of.

It's kind of irritating.

"I had this whole plan to go and reconcile with her when I came out for the trial in June… and now… fuck! I'm such an asshole. Why didn't I just go see her in January when I was here?"

I say, "Cooper, you couldn't have known. Nobody did."

He shrugs. "I've been a selfish asshole for way too long," he says quietly, "And it's going to haunt me forever. Poor Christine. Your mom… Blaine, she was an incredible woman. But you know that. I'm so sorry."

"I remember when you were born, you know," he says, "And how happy she was. She adored you."

And my emotions switch back on. The tears start pouring again.

Cooper and I lie on his bed, crying together and sharing happy memories of Mom until the wine starts wearing off and we start feeling awkward again.


	100. I left Blaine Anderson on the stage

Kurt picks me up at Cooper's hotel much later.

I know that he's annoyed that I hadn't called to tell him where I was sooner, but he doesn't say anything, and I don't apologize.

I don't want to make him feel guilty about being annoyed at me, but then I feel guilty about thinking he would be.

"You look good," he says, "Haircut?"

I nod. "And I got a suit for the funeral."

He tries to smile. "That's good," he says.

I think he's annoyed because he and I usually go shopping together. But I don't apologize.

When we get home, I ask him, "Will you sleep downstairs tonight?"

I don't want to face the night alone.

Kurt nods, looking a little relieved. I've been pushing him away for days. "Of course," he says, "I'd love to."

We curl up in bed together and I focus on his presence and the power I know our relationship has. It's nice to know that our love is still important to me when everything else in my life seems so pointless and stupid.

Kurt and I will never not matter.

I bury my head in his shoulder and let him hold me while I cry myself to sleep.

In the morning, Carole comes down to wake me up, and she finds Kurt and I curled up together with our limbs entwined in the strangest ways. She looks surprised for a moment, but she doesn't object. We're both fully clothed.

"Blaine, it's time to get dressed. Do you want to invite your brother over for breakfast? I'm making pancakes."

Kurt mumbles something sleepy under his breath, and I close my eyes again without responding.

If I never get out of bed and never leave Kurt's embrace, today never has to happen.

But Kurt is stirring, and he reclaims his body carefully, extracting each limb one at a time from the spider web of our bodies.

"Don't," I mutter, "Let's just stay here forever."

Kurt sits down next to me and says, "I wish we could. I _so badly_ wish we could. But you have to get up. Do you want me to call Cooper?"

I put a pillow over my head and ignore him.

I hear him invite Cooper to breakfast while I stare at my eyelids and wonder why anyone ever thought that funerals were a good idea.

"Okay babe," Kurt says, pulling the pillow away half an hour later, "You need to get up now. Come on."

I shake my head, but I let him pull me upright.

I change into my suit, let Kurt do my hair, and join everyone for breakfast in the kitchen. They're all wearing black and looking extremely uncomfortable.

As soon as I try to eat a pancake, I fall start crying and I can't stop.

Finn looks alarmed and leaves the room quickly while Carole and Burt keep eating and talking calmly. Cooper stares at the floor and doesn't move or speak. Kurt sits next to me, rubbing my shoulders and whispering things I don't hear into my ears.

I don't stop crying all through the burial. My mom has been reduced to a pile of ashes in an urn, and the minister says a bunch of meaningless crap about God and heaven as they "lay her to rest."

It feels so irrational and stupid to be crying so hard, but I cannot make myself stop. The tears just keep flowing and my shoulders just keep quivering and it just won't stop.

If I stop crying, this is going to become real.

It's just me, Cooper, Kurt, Finn, Burt, Carole, the minister and Dr. Harris at the service. Only Dr. Harris and I really knew Mom.

I don't know how such a wonderful woman was so alone.

My sobs are the only sound to be heard as the service comes to a close.

We leave the cemetery and we drive to the church where the memorial service is to be. I hear Carole asking Dr. Harris what they should do to calm me down.

I hear them describe me as hysterical, which scares me.

I take a deep, shaky breath, and whisper to Kurt, "I'm not hysterical."

He hasn't let go of my hand all day.

He whispers back, "It's okay, Blaine. You're allowed to be hysterical today."

I swallow a sob, and whisper, "Help me, Kurt. Make the crying stop."

He says, "Okay. Look at me, Blaine. Make eye contact."

I do as he says.

"Take deep breaths," he says, "Breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out."

I do as he says.

I stare into his beautiful eyes and breathe until the half-crazed feeling that I've been feeling all morning starts to dissipate.

Dr. Harris and Carole watch the whole thing happen, but once I'm calm, they leave me and Kurt alone.

"I can't believe we just buried my mother," I whisper.

He shakes his head.

"Why is this happening?"

He pulls me in for a long hug.

"I don't think I can do this," I whisper, "The service. I can't sit there. I can't listen. I can't sing. I can't. I'm not going."

Kurt grips my shoulders firmly. "Hey," he says, "Yes you are. Yes you can. You're Blaine Anderson. Remember him? You can do anything."

Blaine Anderson.

I think I left Blaine Anderson on the stage at Nationals. He's still singing and dancing and entertaining the crowd. He's still basking in the ecstasy of performance and group energy.

I close my eyes and will him to return to me.

He won't come.

"No," I say, "I don't think… Kurt, I just can't. It's too hard."

Kurt shakes his head. He leans in closer to me. "I know it seems impossible," he says, "But you'll never forgive yourself if you miss this. If you don't sing like your mother wanted you to. You need this. I'll be right beside you the whole time."

I look at him and don't know how to tell him that I honestly don't have the strength.

"Blaine, you're the strongest person I know. You performed at Nationals _ten minutes_ after an asthma attack. You braved hand surgery that could have left you without a hand. You stood up to your dad and got yourself out of an abusive situation that would have broken most people. You got your ass kicked by homophobes, and you still have the courage to walk hand-in-hand with me through the school."

I close my eyes, remembering all of these things.

"You're the bravest person I know. You can do today. All you have to do is sing a song. You can do it. I know you can."

I feel my nerves hardening as he speaks.

He's right.

I define myself by my courage. I've developed my whole self-image around it.

If I back out of this… well.

I have to do it.

I have to do it for the sake of my own self.

I nod slowly. "I can do this?"

"You can do it."

I nod again. I feel surreal, like a gullible child falling for propaganda in an old movie. "I can do this," I repeat.

"You can."

"I can."


	101. To make it through

I walk into the sanctuary with Cooper and Kurt only a few moments before the service starts. The church is only about half full of people, and I don't look around too much to see who's there.

I just take a seat, close my eyes, take deep breaths, and listen to the prayers, the hymns, and the eulogy.

I don't move an inch or let myself think about anything except breathing.

There's no possible way to watch someone be buried and then sit as a whole crowd of people join together to collectively say goodbye through prayer, song, and speech and still have any doubt that what has happened is real.

Funerals make it impossible for denial to be an option.

This is actually real.

I can feel something inside myself shifting and getting heavier as the service progresses.

By the time the minister calls upon me to sing, I've tuned out the whole service.

"Blaine!" Kurt nudges my shoulder and whispers, "That's you."

I open my eyes, unstartled. I lean in for a kiss from Kurt, and then make my way slowly to the piano beside the pulpit, where they've set up a microphone for me.

I sit down on the piano bench and say, "This is a song that I wrote to express the power of love and community. It's a song of hope and a song of encouragement, and my Mom wanted me to play it here today."

I put my hands to the piano and begin to play.

_I've been alone  
Surrounded by darkness  
I've seen how heartless  
The world can be_

I've seen you crying  
You felt like it's hopeless  
I'll always do my best  
To make you see

If only I'd been able to help my mom see past the darkness and hopelessness.

Baby, you're not alone  
Cause you're here with me  
And nothing's ever gonna bring us down  
Cause nothing can keep me from lovin' you  
And you know it's true  
It don't matter what'll come to be  
Our love is all we need to make it through

Why did Mom want me to sing this? Why would she kill herself and then ask me to sing _this _song? It seems cruel. It makes the words I'm singing seem hollow and meaningless.

Now I know it ain't easy  
But it ain't hard trying

My voice cracks and I feel my eyes filling with tears again.

_Every time I see you smiling  
And I feel you so close to me  
And you tell me_

Baby, you're not alone  
Cause you're here with me

Is my Mom trying to tell me that she's still here with me? Because I really don't know if I can believe in the afterlife.

_And nothing's ever gonna bring us down  
Cause nothing can keep me from lovin' you_

Except that she killed herself, so how much could she really have loved me?

_And you know it's true  
It don't matter what'll come to be  
Our love is all we need to make it through_

My voice is weak and shaky. I'm falling apart. This song used to make so much sense to me, and now I've never been more confused.

I still have trouble  
I trip and stumble  
Trying to make sense of things sometimes  
I look for reasons  
But I don't need 'em  
All I need is to look in your eyes  
And I realize…

I try to start the next chorus, but no sound will come out of my mouth. My chest feels like it's being compacted as I try desperately not to start sobbing.

I look out at the crowd in apology, hand shaking as they hover over the keys, waiting for my voice to start working again. But it won't.

And then, just as I'm about to run out of the room in humiliation, I hear a voice chime in from the crowd.

Baby I'm not alone  
Cause you're here with me

I look out again and see Kurt on his feet, singing loudly and confidently.

My heart leaps in gratitude, and my fingers return to the keys as I accompany him.

_And nothing's ever gonna take us down_

My heart leaps again; other voices are joining in.

_Cause nothing can keep me from lovin' you_

All of the New Directions are getting to their feet now, singing along.

_And you know it's true  
It don't matter what'll come to be_

Even Mr. Shcuester is there, singing with the choir.

_Our love is all we need to make it through_

My heart leaps again; the Warblers are here too, and they're all standing up to sing too.

_Cause you're here with me  
And nothing's ever gonna bring us down  
Cause nothing, nothing, nothing can keep me from lovin' you  
And you know it's true_

I'm still crying, but it's a warmer, deeply moved sort of crying now. I keep playing the piano.

_It don't matter what'll come to be  
You know our love is all we need_

I find my voice for the very last line of the song.

_Our love is all we need to make it through._

* * *

_Disclaimer: Not Alone belongs to Darren Criss.  
_


	102. So familiar and yet so strange

After the service, I pull Kurt into an empty room where we can be alone for a few moments before I have to stand and accept condolences from everyone in the crowd.

"Did you teach my song to all of those people?"

He nods. "I hope that's okay."

I kiss him with the sort of passion I haven't felt since we won Nationals. "Thank you," I whisper, "You're wonderful. So wonderful."

He smiles, and leans in for another kiss. "We're all here for you, Blaine," he murmurs, "You're never going to be alone."

I wipe tears off of my face, and say, "You have no idea how much that meant to me, Kurt. I am so lucky to have you."

He hugs me tight, and we stand in the room for a few moments, savouring each others' presence.

I say, "I should really go join the reception."

Nodding, Kurt says, "I won't leave your side."

"Thank you."

So Kurt and I hold hands as people mingle, eating tiny sandwiches and talking in hushed voices as one-by-one they all come over to hug me and tell me how sorry they are.

Santana and Brittany both kiss me on the lips.

Puckerman slips a flask of vodka into my suit jacket pocket.

Rachel and Tina hug me for so long that I think they might have fallen asleep.

Quinn whispers, "I don't know if you know, but your buddy Jackson is here."

And as she leaves, Jackson himself approaches. Kurt grabs my hand protectively.

"I'll leave if you want me to," he says immediately.

I shake my head. Jackson was the only person I talked about my mom to for a lot of years. He spent tons of time at our house when we were little and Mom still lived there.

Things between me and Jackson are fucked up beyond belief, but I'm not going to be mad at him for wanting to be here today. "I'm glad you heard," I say quietly.

Jackson says, "Blaine, I'm so sorry for your loss. If there's anything I can do…"

I look at Jackson closely. At his red hair and freckled face. Everything about him is so familiar and yet so strange.

He's like a ghost from a whole different life.

A life I don't ever want to go back to.

"Thanks Jackson," I say, "Thanks for coming."

I think he can hear the dismissal in my voice, but he doesn't seem upset my it. He just gives me one last look and nods. "Goodbye, Blaine."

I watch him go, and Kurt slips his hand around my waist.

And as I watch Jackson walk away, I don't notice the next woman approaching me.

She's young, she's pretty, and she looks very familiar, but I can't figure out where I know her from until I hear her say, "Blaine, I hope it's okay that I'm here."

And I realize who it is—it's Clara—my dad's fiancé.

Or—I notice her bare fingers—ex-finace.

I stare at her, a little stunned. "Clara?"

She nods. "Blaine, I'm so sorry about your Mom."

I thank her stiffly. "I wanted to come today to thank you," she says, "To thank you for opening my eyes about your dad."

I swallow and nod carefully. "Things didn't work out, huh?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know what I was thinking. I don't know how I didn't see it. I broke off the engagement just after New Year."

I say, "Nobody deserves to be with an asshole like him. Congratulations."

She nods. "Thank you."

Looking uncomfortably at Kurt, who still has his arm wrapped around my waist, Clara says, "I spoke to both Cindy and Laura, you know. They told me things. And we're all going to give testimony at the trial in June. I'm so sorry. I only wish I could have done something to help sooner."

My heart swells a little with gratitude. They're all going to testify.

I hug Clara. "You have nothing to be sorry about," I say, "I'm just glad that you got out before things got ugly for you."

She nods, and says, "If you ever need anything, Blaine… just call me, okay?"

She gives me her card, and she walks away.

"Who was that? Who are Cindy and Laura?" asks Kurt quietly, staring at Clara curiously.

I say, "She was my dad's fiancé. Cindy and Laura are his other ex-wives."

He nods. "That's what I thought. It was nice of her to come."

I nod as well. "Very nice."

I greet and hug more and more people, until the crowd starts to thin out completely and Kurt senses how stressed out I'm getting by the constant attention.

He says, "Come on. You've been here long enough. Let's go. We'll get dinner. Just you and me. And then we're having a bonfire out at Birch Bay. Just the glee club. Do you feel up for it?"

The idea of sitting around a campfire with my friends right now sounds wonderful.

I nod, feeling my eyes brim with tears again. "Absolutely. Let's go."

Kurt smiles and leads me out of the church.


	103. It's all thanks to him

Kurt and I take our time eating dinner before driving out to the lake where Finn and Puck have booked us a campsite by the water. We don't talk very much. My head is still too fuzzy to think of much to say. I feel a bit like I've been living underwater for the past few days and I'm only just now surfacing.

But it's nice just to sit with Kurt and feel grateful for all of the wonderful people I have in my life thanks to him.

It's all thanks to him.

When we drive up to the campsite, most of the glee club is already there, sitting around a fire and chatting idly with each other. Kurt and I sit in his car for a minute before joining them.

I say, "Don't let them… you know. Be all weird. Tell them to ignore me and just have fun."

He nods, laughing in a sort of sad kind of way. "I promise," he says, "Just let me know the minute you want to leave, okay?"

"I will. "

We get out of the car and join the campfire. Everyone watches me set up a lawn chair beside the fire, but they look away quickly when I try to make eye contact.

People are cooking hot dogs and marshmallows over the fire and singing camp songs. Puck and Sam are braving a swim in the ice-cold lake.

I know full well that they planned this party just to cheer me up, but they're doing a really good job of giving me my space and acting like it's just a spontaneous good time.

I fucking love these people.

Santana brings me a beer, and I drink it quietly while I watch the fire and listen to my friends' voices.

Kurt gives me my space, which I appreciate. He's been intuitive about that through this whole thing. When I need him, he's by my side. When I want to be alone, he keeps his distance.

Tonight I just want the chance to talk to other people without his protective stare frightening them away.

After a while, the rest of the choir goes to join Puck and Sam in the lake, screaming and splashing and shivering as the sun sets. I stay in my lawn chair with my knees hugged to my chest, sipping beer and watching them quietly.

Four days ago we were winning Nationals. It feels like a lifetime ago.

And at the same time, I can't believe it's already been four days.

As I watch them having fun, I feel a familiar panging inside myself.

I've never liked to be anywhere but the centre of the action when people are having fun.

And even though I'm way too drained to actually go join them, it's nice to know that that fundamental part of my personality is still alive.

Somewhere beneath this alien mask of hurt that has shrouded everything else these last few days, Blaine Anderson lives on.

I just don't know if I'm ever going to have to energy to let him come out and play again.

"Your mother was beautiful," says a quiet voice beside me suddenly.

I look up in surprise and see Tina sitting in the chair right beside me. I'd thought that everyone else was down at the water.

She nods at me and says, "I saw the pictures at the church."

I don't think anyone ever appreciates Tina enough. She's quiet, but she's perceptive.

Everyone else has been adopting one of two tactics with me; trying to distract me from thinking about Mom, or trying to console me.

Tina doesn't do any of those things. I think she knows that I'm not going to be distracted or consoled.

So she just talks to me about my mother.

"Thank you," I say softly, "I always told her that."

Nodding, Tina says, "Kurt said he met her a few times. He says she was incredible."

I say, "She was. Kurt told you about her?"

I have a morbid curiosity about what everyone else must be saying/thinking about me during this time.

"He did," Tina says, nodding. "I hope that's okay. We were curious about why you didn't live with her."

Shaking my head, I say, "It's fine."

She watches me closely. "All of us were really upset when we heard, you know."

"I'm sorry," I say. "Right after winning Nationals too."

She shrugs. "I mean, I could tell that Finn and Kurt were really upset about something that night. Mr. Schue too. But I was celebrating too much to think about it then."

I nod. "I asked them not to say anything."

"Understandably," Tina says.

I ask, "When did you find out what had happened?"

She says, "Well, I was up all night, so I was asleep for most of the bus ride home, so I missed a lot of it, but apparently people were speculating about why you went home with Kurt and his parents. You know—we all thought you were sick, and we were kind of joking about what could be wrong with you this time—sorry."

I sort of smile and say, "Fair enough."

Tina continues, "And apparently Finn got really mad and told them to shut up about it. Then when we were pretty close to Lima, he and Rachel kind of got into a fight, because she wanted to know why he was being all moody and quiet, and he was annoyed at everyone for being so happy and stuff when he knew what you were going through."

She looks a little embarrassed to admit this, and I'm a little embarrassed at how interested I am in the story.

"So finally, Finn looks at Mr. Schue and asks, like, 'Can't we just tell them now?' And so Schue called for everyone's attention and then he told us."

She pauses, studying my face. "I felt like we'd been hit by a train. We all started crying. It was awful. I mean—"

She stops suddenly, looking a little horrified. "I'm so sorry," she says, "I know it's incredibly insensitive for me to talk about how awful it was for _us_."

But I find it oddly comforting to hear that they were upset. Maybe it's my ego talking, but it's good to know that people care.

"It's okay," I say, "I'm actually very touched."

Tina pushes her hair out of her eyes and says, "I know none of us knew your Mom," she says, "But you're one of us, and it really shook us up. Major reality check."

I open another beer.

She says, "And at school on Monday, none of us could really get into the hype we were getting for winning Nationals, even though we've been waiting for it for years.. Mr. Schue let us just hang out and try to talk through it during rehearsal. And then on Tuesday when Kurt was teaching us _Not Alone…_ None of us could hold it together."

I say, "You have no idea how much it meant to me when you guys started singing today. I'm so lucky."

Shaking her head, Tina says, "We love you, Blaine. And with all that stuff with your dad going on too… it's just really important to all of us that you know we're here for you. We meant what we sang."

"I really appreciate that," I say, reaching out to hug her.

She accepts my hug and we hold each other for a few moments.

People start joining us at the fire again, and Puck gets out his guitar. Everyone begins requesting songs from him, and he easily finds the chords for all of them. Everyone sings along. The sun disappears beyond the horizon, and I snuggle up with Kurt, listening to the voices of my friends and watching the dancing flames of the fire.

I don't know how to fully process my emotional state right now, because I'm full of sadness about the past and dread about the future, but I'm full of love and gratitude for the people around me at this moment.

The people, the music, the lake, the beer, and the fire are all combining in a way that makes me feel understand what a huge and spacious place the future is in comparison to the past. And maybe I'm drunk or maybe I've finally gone over the edge, but that idea that makes me feel strong.

It's going to be a really hard few months, but the powerful, loving energy that surrounds me right now makes me feel like it's going to be okay.

I feel stronger than I've ever felt before, and it scares me, because I think I should feel more broken than ever.

I really just don't know why anyone wastes their time worshiping deities when simple human relationships can be so healing.


	104. The only thing that comes easy

I return to my classes on Monday, and it becomes clear very quickly that the entire school knows that my mom killed herself. People stare at me when I walk into classrooms, and they whisper about me when I walk down the halls.

I've never hated school more.

Concentrating on classes is impossible, but none of the teachers say a word to me when I blatantly ignore the lessons or leave my pencil in my backpack and stare at the wall instead of working on my assignments.

Halfway through my English class, I stand up and walk out of the classroom without asking permission, and I don't come back for the rest of the class. Nobody questions it.

During our noon hour break, Kurt finds me in the hall and gives me a hug. While he's asking me about my morning, three football players walk by, and we automatically flinch in preparation to be slushied or slammed into our lockers.

But they walk right past.

My heart won't stop pounding.

In glee rehearsal, Mr. Schue takes suggestions for songs for us to sing at Senior Prom this Friday.

"That's this Friday?" I whisper in surprise, looking at Kurt.

He nods. "We don't have to go if you don't want to."

I shake my head. "Of course we're going."

If Senior Prom is this weekend, then Junior Prom was last weekend, and I completely forgot about it.

Puck comes into the choir room late, just as Rachel and Mercedes stop arguing about who will get which solos.

He's got a bloody nose and a fresh black eye blooming.

Mr. Schue helps him as he staggers to a chair, still breathing hard from the fight he's clearly just had.

"Oh my god, Puck. What happened?"

Puck accepts tissues from Quinn to stem the blood from his nose, and he scowls. "Nothing. I just had a disagreement with a couple of dudes."

"What dudes, Puck?" Finn asks, looking outraged.

Puck rolls his eyes. "They're on the hockey team. I don't know their names. Don't even worry about it. They look a lot worse than I do."

"Puck, what were you fighting about?" Mr. Schue is frowning deeply.

Shaking his head and glancing momentarily up at me, Puck says, "It doesn't matter."

Mr. Schue says, "Puck, I have to report this to Principal Figgins. You know that. So you'd better have a good reason."

"What?" Puck looks alarmed. "No, don't report it! It's nothing. It's over."

"What were you fighting about, Puck?"

He looks distinctly uncomfortable. "It's nothing. I just overheard them saying… something very rude about… a friend. And I wasn't willing to let it slide."

He glances at me again, and my stomach knots a little.

"What were they saying, Puck?" I ask quietly. Everyone looks at me in surprise.

Puck gives me a long look, and says, "You don't want to know, Blaine. I'm sorry."

"No," I say, "I want to know. What did they say?"

He grimaces, making eye contact with me. "Uh… I heard them talking about your mom. They were saying… well, I don't want to say."

"Just tell me, Puck."

Kurt puts his hand on my shoulder, and Pucks says, "Apparently… well. There's a rumor going around that your mom killed herself because she found out you were gay. And they were saying that she probably had the right idea."

Shouts of protest and outrage fill the room as half the choir crowds around to comfort me, and the other half attempts to push past Mr. Schue at the door to track down these guys for themselves.

I close my eyes, shake my head, and say, "It's fine, guys. It doesn't mean anything. They're just ignorant and immature. Ignore them."

But I feel like puking.

After rehearsal, I go to physio for my hand followed by an appointment with a grief therapist that Carole made for me.

By the time I get home that I'm so exhausted I don't even say goodnight to Kurt before collapsing in my bed and sleeping in my clothes.

The next few days go by in a similar fashion. I go to school and pretend to pay attention to my classes, go to rehearsal and pretend to care about prom, go to physio and pretend to believe my hands are getting stronger, go to therapy and pretend to think talking about it will help, and then go home and sleep.

Sleep used to be so very difficult for me, but now it's the only thing that comes easy.


	105. In a town like this

Kurt looks insanely handsome in his prom tux. It's easy to imagine him going off to New York and being an adult when he looks like this. He's a grown up. He's so far removed from the scared and lonely kid I met last year that it's scary.

The gym is decorated like a Jurassic jungle in honour of the dinosaur themed prom, and Kurt and I dance together all night.

"Do you remember the first day we met?" I ask Kurt when the music slows down and the noise level becomes appropriate for a conversation.

He smiles. "Yes. You dazzled me. I thought I was going to pass out. Smiling at me in your blazer… singing Teenage Dream… Jesus, I still get shivers thinking about it. Love at first sight really is a thing, you know."

I say, "I know. I mean… it took me a long time to figure it out, but I think my heart belonged to you from the moment you lied to me about being the new kid.

Laughing, Kurt says, "I was a terrible spy."

"And it was adorable," I agreed.

We dance toward a sparser part of floor, and I say, "I can't believe how lucky we are. To have found each other in a town like this."

Kurt nods. "I was miserable before I met you. So lonely. And fully prepared to live out the rest of high school as a single man."

"I know. I met you less than six months after Jackson and them beat me up. I'd just started to figure out who I was without the violin. The last thing I ever expected to happen was falling in love."

"Which is probably why it took you so long to figure out that you were."

"Very true."

We dance closer to each other, and Kurt says, "It's pretty crazy, you know. How far we've come since that first kiss last winter."

"No kidding. This time last year, we were just sappy kids in love for the first time. Never actually talking about anything more personal than our favourite Disney movies."

Giggling, Kurt leans in to kiss me. He says, "We were like that for ages. Until you came to McKinley, really."

I say, "That was definitely the turning point, yeah. I wouldn't have come if I weren't ready to really take the relationship seriously."

"And then we started finding out about each other's insecurities and problems," Kurt says, "Which was phase two. Then phase three was losing our virginity."

I say, "And phase four was you just saving my fucking life for the last four months."

He smiles. "You saved me too, you know. And I think we're in phase five now."

"What's phase five?"

Shrugging sadly, Kurt says, "I don't know, really. Transition, I guess. Everything's going to change now. And we're just holding our breath, hoping that it doesn't have to mean goodbye."

"It's never going to be goodbye," I say.

I know it's a little unrealistic to be so convinced that my high school love with be forever, but I am convinced of it.

"Are you going to stay in Lima next year?" Kurt asks, "I mean, I know Cooper wants you to come to LA…"

It's something I've been thinking about a lot lately.

I say, "I think I have to go."

"That's what I thought you'd say," Kurt says, "But you know Artie and Tina and Brittany and everyone won't be happy."

"I know," I say, "And that's why I haven't decided for sure yet. But I really don't think I'll have the heart to take advantage of your Dad's and Carole's kindness once you and Finn are gone. Not when I know I have family out there willing to take me in."

The song ends and Sam and Mercedes start singing a new one. Kurt says, "As much as I know the New Directions will suffer without you, I think you should go. A change will be good for you. And you're too good for this town."

I smile. "Or maybe I should come to New York with you. Live under your bed at college or something."

He says, "I think this idea better."

I laugh. "If only."

He kisses me, and says, "Sweetie, that's the first time you've smiled or laughed in almost two weeks. If being with me is what it takes to get that sparkle back in your eyes, then maybe _I_ should go to New York. I got accepted at UCLA, you know."

"No," I say immediately, "No way. New York is your dream. I'm not getting in the way of that."

"Blaine, New York is never going to go away. Why does it really matter what city I go to college in? LA has just as much to offer for performers, anyway."

I say, "Kurt, don't. If you don't go to NYADA, you're always going to regret it. It's the best school in the country, and you've wanted to go there since you were eleven."

"Well," he says, "I haven't been accepted to NYADA yet."

"But you will be."

Kurt nods, studying my face as the song ends. We sit down in a corner to talk as the music speeds up again. "So how about this: If I don't get into NYADA, I'll go to UCLA. Because I have no emotional attachment to NYU, but I do have emotional attachment to you. And if I can't do NYADA, I want to be near you."

I feel myself being overwhelmed by emotion. "Kurt, that's a wonderful gesture, and it means the world to me, but neither of us know where _I'll_ end up going for college the next year. What if I can't get into an LA school, and you end up alone in a city you never really wanted to live in?"

He frowns. "You'll be able to get into any school you want to, Blaine. I guess the real question is—will you _want_ to stay in LA?"

"I don't really know," I admit, "All I know is that I don't want to stay in Lima."

Kurt kisses me. "Let's just wait until I get my letter from NYADA," he says, "And then we'll talk some more. But think about it, okay?"

I kiss him back, and tell him, "I have no doubt in my mind that you got into NYADA, Kurt."

Shaking his head, Kurt says, "We'll see."

I look out at the crowd dancing on the floor, and grab Kurt's hand again, standing up. "Come on," I say, "Let's go have some fun."


	106. I've never been so proud

Kurt graduates with a class of 106 along with Finn, Rachel, Santana, Puck, Mercedes, and Quinn. The ceremony starts at eleven o'clock in the afternoon, three days after final exams end.

Seeing my boyfriend in a cap and gown is a bit surreal. His childhood is officially over, isn't it? I can't imagine how terrifying and exciting it must be to be finished with high school for good.

Kurt and Burt share a long and tearful hug before Kurt goes to join the rest of the graduates on the risers.

"I wish your mother was here to see this," Burt whispers, "She'd be so so proud of you. _I'm_ so so proud of you. You're really growing up."

I think Kurt misses his mom a lot today, which somehow makes me feel closer to him than ever before.

He kisses me quickly before he runs after Finn and disappears into a sea of other caps and gowns.

I take a seat between Tina and Artie. The ceremony is seven hundred years of speeches and congratulations and reading off names, but my heart almost explodes with pride every time one of my friends crosses the stage to accept their papers.

Ironically, most of the kids up there haven't even gotten their final grades back yet, so the papers they're getting now could very well mean nothing.

Still, it's pretty cool. I join Kurt, Finn, and their families for a congratulatory lunch after the ceremony, followed by a long afternoon of taking pictures and visiting old teachers and reminiscing with the other graduates.

Kurt and I go home to change and have a quick dinner before going out to the party at the lake, and there's a stack of mail in waiting on the table.

Our final report cards have arrived, and so has a letter from NYADA for Kurt and a letter from an unfamiliar address for me.

My heart starts pounding when Kurt picks up the NYADA letter.

"Let's open our report cards first," I say quickly, pushing his into his hand.

He nods, taking deep breaths. "Good idea. Let's find out if I actually graduated or not."

Kurt's a good student and has nothing to worry about, but I agree.

We tear open our report cards and scan them quickly.

I've never had trouble with school, but I still always feel an incredible sensation of relief at the end of the school year when I look at my report card and know for sure that I've passed another grade.

"Well, I'm officially a graduate," Kurt says, handing me his report card and taking mine from me to peek.

I glance over his; mostly in the 75% to 85% range. "Congrats, babe."

I lean in to kiss him, but he's staring at my report card in alarm. "Are you kidding me?" he asks, "How the hell did you pull off grades like this with the year you've had?" He scans the grade column, "You don't have a single mark under 93%. How did I not know you were a genius?"

I roll my eyes, taking the report card back. "I'm not a genius," I say, "Open the NYADA letter."

Kurt is still gaping at me. "You're seriously good at everything, aren't you? If you didn't have such terrible luck, I'd have to hate you a little."

"Open the letter," I repeat.

"You open that one first," Kurt says, pointing at my letter, "I'm too scared."

So I open the mysterious envelope, and I emerge with a cheque for several thousand dollars. My jaw drops a little.

"What is it?"

I hand him the cheque and start to read the letter included in the envelope.

"It's my inheritance from my mom," I say, "Shit."

I can't let myself cry right now.

I wave my hands at my eyes, blinking rapidly to stem the tears. Kurt gives me a big hug.

"It's okay," I say quickly, "I can pay back your parents for my hospital bills now. Open the NYADA letter."

And so Kurt takes a deep breath, pulls the paper out of the envelope, and slowly reads the first few sentences.

His hand flies over his mouth, and I can't tell if he's happy or sad.

"Tell me!"

"I got in!" he says, tears falling onto the paper and he starts jumping up and down, "I got in!"

I throw my arms around him and we both start bawling and dancing at the same time.

Kurt is going to New York.

Kurt's fucking dreams are coming true.

I feel like it's a sign—life is going to be on our side now.

I've never been so proud of anyone in my entire life.


	107. I listened only to the tune

I see my father for the first time in months as I take my seat next to my lawyer in the courtroom on June 11.

He's dressed to impress and when I make eye contact with him I feel like I'm going to puke.

"Just don't look at your dad," my lawyer, Cathy, advises me, "It'll only upset you."

There's a jury and a judge and a gallery full of my friends.

Last time I sat in a courtroom, the gallery was full of people supporting Jackson and the other boys. It's a completely different feeling to know I have people on my side this time.

Since Dad pleaded not guilty, I'm worried that we won't have enough evidence to convict him, but Cathy tells me not to worry.

Both of our lawyers make their opening statements, which I tune out completely. All I can think about is the fact that my dad is sitting across the room from me and I'm trying to ruin his life.

I keep reminding myself that I could be preventing him from hurting anyone else, but a little voice in the back of my head is whispering to me that this was all a really bad idea.

He's still my dad. And that still means something, as much as I beg myself to let it go.

Cathy starts calling up witnesses to testify and present evidence.

I go first, but I barely hear what I'm saying as I answer all of the questions.

And then I'm back in my seat, listening to the other witnesses as though from a great distance.

Each witness gets asked questions by Dad's lawyer too, but nothing Dad's lawyer asks yields an answer that really does anything to support Dad's not guilty plea.

The doctor who treated me in the emergency room that day shows photographs of how beat up I was, and describes my behaviour in the emergency room.

I can't believe how horrifying the photographs are. I don't remember it being so bad. My face is almost unrecognisable.

Someone from the police station provides DNA evidence that I'd had some of my dad's blood on me that night.

Another person from the police station shows photographs of my dad when they arrested him, and the blood evidence from his fingernails and clothes.

Then Kurt and Finn both tell their versions of how they became suspicious and finally confronted me about the abuse.

Kurt's version is what brings me back into the present. Suddenly I'm paying very close attention.

"And then the day after the intervention, he didn't show up for school, and he wouldn't answer any of our calls," Kurt is saying, "In the afternoon, I was called into the school counsellor's office, and there he was, beat up so badly I could barely recognise him. He told me what happened and completely fell apart, crying."

Hearing the hurt in Kurt's voice as he retells the story is horrifying. What would I do if someone ever hurt Kurt?

I don't think I could take it.

Ms. Pillsbury and Mr. Schuester both testify about what happened after I showed up at school covered in blood and bruises.

I am so lucky that McKinley has people as wonderful as them on staff. I don't think they get nearly enough credit for how much they care.

My former step-mothers appear as character witnesses about my dad, saying that he was controlling and violent.

The more I hear other people's versions of my story, the quieter the voice in the back of my head telling me that this is a bad idea gets.

Cooper is the last witness that Cathy calls. He takes the stand and recounts our phone conversation the morning after I left Dad's.

"I told him to go the police, but he didn't want to. He felt that being safe and out of Dad's house at last was enough."

Cathy asks, "And what did you tell him?"

"I told him he didn't want to end up like me and live in regret for not doing something when he had the chance. I told him he had a chance to prevent Dad from ever hurting anyone else."

"And what did you mean by 'ending up like you'?"

Cooper looks at Dad and then back at Cathy. "I mean that I ran away from Dad's abuse instead of fighting it, and as a result, Blaine was left in danger."

"Can you describe to us what kind of abuse you personally experienced from your father?"

Dad's lawyer calls out, "Objection! This is irrelevant to the current case."

Cathy says, "We're establishing the character of the defendant, your honour."

The judge says, "I will allow it."

Cooper says, "Blaine's mother—Christine—my step-mother—who recently committed suicide—may she rest in peace—suffered from severe bi-polar disorder. After Blaine was born—when I was ten years old—she became extremely unstable. She was often a danger to herself and to her infant son. She wanted to admit herself to an institution to protect all of us, but my father… wouldn't allow it. I guess he was afraid of the stigma he'd face with a mentally ill wife or something. So instead, he kept her locked inside the house during the day while he was at work."

"He locked his wife inside of the house?"

Cooper nods. "Yes. She wasn't allowed to leave. And if she tried to reason with him or break out, he'd hit her and terrify her. I used to have to wait outside after school until he got home, because I'd come and the doors would be locked and I couldn't get in. And this went on until Blaine was about four or five years old."

Somehow I feel calmer than I've felt all day, even though what I'm hearing should theoretically be freaking me right the fuck out.

"What changed?"

Cooper says, "I got older. Bigger. Started fighting with him. Started skipping school to break into the house and let her out. So he gave up on locking her in, but by that time, she was so afraid of him that she couldn't function. She was already mentally ill, but after what Dad did to her… She'd spend her entire day at the piano, playing the same song over and over again. When he got home, she'd run and hide in the basement. Sometimes, she'd get Blaine to help her cook enough food to feed an army and then she'd just throw it all away. And she'd scream if anyone tried to convince her to go outdoors."

"But he wouldn't get her any help?"

"No," Cooper says.

"And he was violent with you?"

Nodding, Cooper says, "I became very interested in musical theatre when I was in high school, but Dad was so afraid of the homosexual stereotypes associated with theatre that he forbid me from performing. I ignored him, and he hit me. Luckily I'm quite a bit more evenly matched with my dad, size-wise, than Blaine is, so I was able to protect myself. And I continued performing while taking his abuse."

"And was Blaine aware of any of this?"

I hadn't thought I'd known, but as I've been sitting here, listening to the story, none of it seems unfamiliar. It seems horrifying and awful, but somehow nothing surprises me.

I mean, I was there.

Cooper says, "Blaine was a prodigy musician with a one-track mind. He spent all of his time practicing and performing his violin. I think that on some level he was aware of what was going on, but he was trained by our family from a very young age to ignore it. He focused on music instead."

I nod at him, and he makes eye contact. I notice that he has tears running down his face, even though his voice shows no evidence of emotion.

"And what happened once you were finished high school?"

Cooper says, "I did everything I could to convince Christine that she should run away and check into a hospital. She promised she would, and I was so angry and tired of the whole situation that I made myself believe her. And then I just left. This was about nine years ago. I couldn't deal with it anymore. Christine left and checked into a mental health facility shortly afterward. I went to college in New York and I didn't speak to any of them again until this year, when I reconnected with Blaine." Cooper shrugs.

Everyone in the room seems intoxicated by Cooper's voice as he talks. He has a way of making people listen, and his story is so heartbreaking that not even Dad's own lawyer is keeping the emotion out of his face.

I hug Cooper as he returns to his seat.

My skin feels weird and tingly.

I don't really pay attention for the rest of the trial. Dad's lawyer calls a couple of witnesses who say some bullshit about how he's a wonderful man who wouldn't hurt a fly, and then the judge gives the jury directions, and they file out of the room.

I sit very still and stare at my desk, putting together tiny pieces of memory that have suddenly returned to me after hearing Cooper's story.

I remember everything and nothing at the same time and I don't know how to understand it.

It's like my childhood is a movie that I'd completely forgotten I'd seen until I started watching it again.

Or like it's a tv show that I missed most of the episodes of.

Or a song that I listened only to the tune and never to the lyrics.

And then suddenly the jury is back in the room, and the judge is on her feet.

"How does the jury find the defendant?" she asks.

The jury foreman stands up. "We, the jury," he says, "Find the defendant guilty of all charges."

And then everything is a hazy explosion of cheers and bodies all around me.


	108. I'm just glad it's over

Cooper and I sneak out the back of the courthouse while everyone else celebrates the verdict and the judge announces the date for the sentencing hearing.

"Do you think he'll try to appeal the verdict?" I ask.

"Maybe," Cooper says, "But he doesn't have much of a case, does he? His lawyer didn't even seem to want him to win."

I smile. "I noticed that too. Jesus. I'm just glad it's over."

Nodding, Cooper says, "Same. I'm taking you out to dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

He unlocks his car and tells me, "I don't care if you're not hungry. You're going to eat. Blaine, you look like you haven't had a meal since I was here for the funeral."

It's true that my appetite has been somewhat lacking.

We go to Breadstix and get a booth in the corner.

"I do remember, you know," I tell my brother, "All that stuff about Mom and Dad and you. I didn't think I knew, but when you were up there telling it, I realized I'd always kind of known. Somehow I'd just repressed it all for all these years."

Cooper smiles in a grim sort of way. "You were really young, Blaine," he says, "For the worst of it, you were still a baby. And then as soon as you were old enough that you could have noticed that things were shitty, you became obsessed with music. Honestly, Blaine, it was a little scary just how obsessed you were."

Nodding, I say, "I know. Trust me, I know."

We order food, and I tell Cooper, "If you're really serious about having me live with you in LA, I think I want to do it. At the end of the summer."

He grins hesitantly, tilting his head a little. "I'm glad," he says, "But there's something I want to talk to you about before you make a real decision."

I raise an eyebrow. "What is it?"

Cooper tells me, "When I was in college, me and my buddies used to write and stage musicals through the student theatre company at our school."

It seems like such a random thing to bring up. I say, "Okay…?"

"And after we graduated, me and a guy called Wally decided that we were going to get serious about getting one of our shows professionally produced. It took two and a half years of hard work, but our show _Peregrination _was eventually staged off-Broadway in NYC for a pretty successful ten-month run. I moved out to LA after that to pursue film acting, but Wally's been in New York working on other Broadway and off-Broadway shows ever since."

It's interesting to find out more about what Cooper's been doing for the last ten years, but I don't really see where he's going with this.

"What's your point, Cooper?"

He swallows, surveying me carefully. He says, "A couple of months ago, my friend Wally was in Ohio with a touring show he's working on, and while he was here, he attended a fundraising gala for the Avonroy Foundation."

My jaw drops a little. "Oh!"

Smiling, Cooper says, "Yeah. And as part of that gala, a very talented and charismatic young man by the name of Blaine Anderson took the stage. Wally started recording what this young man was saying almost as soon as he began speaking, because he was so moved by what he was hearing. This kid talked about the abused and broken amongst the LGBT community that society tries to ignore in our hope and determination to forge a bright new future."

My stomach knots a little, and I say nothing.

"And then this young Blaine Anderson shared some music with the crowd. Beautiful, haunting music."

I sip my water and avoid eye contact with my brother.

Cooper tells me, "My friend Wally was very inspired by what he heard. He began to conceptualize a musical based on the ideas Blaine had spoken about and the songs he had sung."

My jaw drops a little. "A musical?"

"Hang on, I'll get to that soon," Cooper says, "Just imagine Wally's disbelief when he discovered that this Blaine Anderson who had inspired him so deeply was actually the brother of Cooper Anderson, his dear friend and frequent collaborator."

I smile a little. "Okay. I'm imagining it."

Cooper says, "So Wally called me. And he let me listen to the recoding he'd taken at the gala. He shared with me his idea for a show. And he and I decided to rekindle our partnership and begin working on this show together."

"You're working on a show based on _my_ speech?"

He nods. "I didn't want to approach you about it until I was very sure that we were serious about it. And then when I was sure, your mom passed away, and I didn't want… well, I wanted to give you some time. But yes. Of course, we won't go any further with it if you're not comfortable. But if you're game, we'd love for you to work with us on it. We'd love to use your music. Your song—_Punching_ _Bag_—is a central theme in our current script."

Somehow our food has arrived on the table without me even noticing; my heart is racing.

"Are you serious?" I ask, "My music could seriously end up in a Broadway show?"

Cooper grins, obviously pleased by my excitement, but he says "Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves now. It's not easy to get a show on Broadway. But Wally and I—especially Wally—we have some very influential contacts in New York. And right now there is certainly more interest in backing our project than we could have anticipated. We have some producers on board. That being said—I mean, the process of developing a Broadway show can take years, Blaine."

I nod. "That's okay," I say, "This is so cool! Tell me about the story."

I can tell that Cooper is very pleased that I'm interested; he's trying to contain his excitement.

"Well," he says, "It plays on the whole metaphor that _Punching Bag_ sets up. The spotlight holds you hostage. You're trapped in a never-ending run of the same show. Nobody knows about the man backstage. So basically, it's a kid who is a central figure in a local gay rights movement. He's in the public eye all the time, fighting for equality and fair treatment. Highly respected and admired by the community. But at home, his father uses him as a punching bag. And he can't admit it. The show sort of goes back and forth between 'on stage' and 'off stage'—and… well, you'd have to read the script. Or talk to Wally. He's better at explaining it than me. But trust me, it's really good. I mean… that sounds cocky, but it is. A lot of people are really excited about the idea."

"So you have a script already?"

Cooper says, "Not a full script. A rough outline. But it gets the picture across. If you're in, you can help us flesh it out. And we'll hire an arranger, but it would be so great if you'd write the score, Blaine. I know you've been composing since you were about six years old. And both of the songs you sang at that gala will fit into our current script. Of course, they'll need to be rearranged a little, but…I mean, they're beautiful songs, Blaine."

My head is reeling. This is way too much to take in. My brother wants me to help him write a show that could actually go to Broadway. I'm seventeen years old. I'm not even done high school yet. This is crazy.

"Of course I'll do it!" I say, "I mean, I'll try! I have no idea how one goes about composing a score for a musical…"

"You'll have help," Cooper says, "Like I said, we'll get an arranger to work with you. But I know you're still in high school. And I know you've had a tough year. We can find other people to work with if you don't think you can do it. Because I'll be honest with you, Blaine, it's not going to be easy. Putting together a show like this is a lot of work. But since you're the inspiration behind the show, we want to offer you the job first. You're ridiculously talented, Blaine. And nobody is going to understand our ideas better than you."

"I said I'll do it!" I say, "Even if I have to do my senior year online or something. Are you kidding me? This is a fucking dream come true."

He grins. "Okay. Okay awesome." He's grinning hugely. "Okay. I'll tell Wally it's a go. We'll set up a meeting and get started."

My face hurts from smiling; I think my body has forgotten how to be happy. I'm ecstatic.

"Of course," Cooper adds, "This means I'm moving back to New York City. So if you had your heart set on LA, I'm sorry…"

I want to scream and dance and hug him, but we're in a restaurant, so I just grin and start eating my pasta. It tastes better than anything has ever tasted before.


	109. Nobody deserves it more

I text Kurt to let him know I have huge news to tell him, but before Cooper and I can even leave the Breadstix parking lot, I get a phone call from an unknown number.

"Hello?" I answer.

An unfamiliar male voice on the other end says, "Hello, is this Blaine Anderson?"

"Yes it is."

"Hello Blaine. This is Wayne Larsen from Marble Records. Do you have a few minutes to talk?"

My heart skips a beat. What on earth is someone from a recording company doing calling me?

Cooper looks at me in impressed surprise; we're in his car and I'm sure he can hear Wayne's voice quite clearly.

"Yes, I can talk," I say quickly.

Wayne says, "Blaine, I never got a chance to introduce myself properly, but we met briefly at the Avonroy Foundation gala in April."

I look at Cooper, who is listening with an expression of confused anticipation on his face.

"Okay," I say, "Hi."

What else can I say?

"Blaine, I was very impressed by the music you played that night. _Very _impressed."

Cooper is grinning so widely I think his face is gunna crack. He gives me a huge thumbs up.

If this call is about what I think it is, I think I'm going to pass out.

"Thank you," I say, a little breathless.

"I understand that you've recently been through a very sad loss," Wayne says, "Which is why I haven't contacted you sooner. But I brought my recording of your gala performance to some of my colleagues here at the label, and they all agreed with me that you've got huge potential. We think the market is just waiting for a performer like you to hit the scene. A gay but confident and masculine boy with a touching story and tremendous talent."

I don't respond, and he clears his throat. "I'm sorry," Wayne says, "I'm making you sound like a product I want to sell. Which is true, but you're also an inspirational young man who I want to give a lucky break to."

Cooper is bouncing up and down in his seat, trying not to start cheering out loud. I punch him, doing the same thing. "Are you offering me a recording contract?" I ask.

"Didn't I say that?" asks Wayne, "Yes, I absolutely am. We want to make you a star, Blaine. Are you interested?"

I pause, looking at Cooper for help; I'm dizzy with overwhelming emotion. He just grins and nods at me.

I stutter, "It's—wow—why—you've only heard two of my songs. One performance. Why…"

He says, "I've been in this business long enough to recognise something special when I see it, Blaine."

I say, "I'm stunned, Mr. Larsen. I don't know what to say."

"Say yes," he says, laughing, "And make me a happy man."

"Well—I—um. I have another project that I'm working on—a possible Broadway show—using my music. I'm not sure if…"

Cooper hisses, "Don't even. We'll find another composer."

But Wayne sounds delighted. "A Broadway show? That's wonderful, Blaine. I'm sure we can work out a way for you to do both. Can we set up a meeting with you and the producers of this show?"

I look at Cooper, who nods vigorously.

I say, "Uh… yeah. Let's do that."

"Our studio and offices are in New York City," Wayne says, "Do you think you can come up to the city?"

I nod, and Cooper hits me to remind me that I'm on the phone and nodding isn't an effective response. "Of course," I say, "When?"

He says, "Why don't you check with your producers to find a good time? I'll give you my number."

I write down his number, and Wayne says goodbye, telling me, "Blaine, we're very serious about this. We're ready to invest a lot of resources into you. We're a small label, but we have a lot of influence in the NYC music scene. We can make you a star here. So just make sure it's really what you want, okay?"

"Okay," I say, "I'll think about it. And we'll set up a meeting as soon as possible."

"Great. I'll speak to you soon, Blaine."

He hangs up, and I drop my phone. Cooper tackles me in a gigantic hug.

"I'm so proud of you, little brother!"

"Is this actually happening?" I ask, "Is my life actually getting awesome all of a sudden?"

"It actually is," Cooper assures me, "And nobody deserves it more."


	110. The relief is unbelievable

"Oh my god," Kurt says when I burst into his room as soon as I get home, "You look deranged. What's going on?"

I throw my arms around him and tackle him on his bed, kissing him hard on the mouth.

He responds immediately and kisses me back, and for half a second I feel like a normal teenager fooling around with his boyfriend—until I remember what a crazy day I've had.

"What is _up_ with you?" Kurt asks, "I mean, I'm glad your dad was convicted too, but I thought you'd be at least a little shaken up by all the stuff Cooper said…"

I shake my head, "None of that matters, Kurt. It's over now. You'll never guess what news I have."

He laughs and pushes me off of him, sitting up. "What is it, Blaine? You're _vibrating_ with excitement."

I roll over and kneel in front of him on the bed. "I'm moving to New York City!" I squeal, jumping on top of him again.

"What!" Kurt pulls away from me, gaping. "Wh—what?"

"I'm moving to New York!"

He stands up off the bed, mouth hanging open in surprise and confusion. "Explain!" he demands.

I stand up too. "Cooper and his friend are writing a musical. They've got real Broadway producers already interested. Apparently they've done this before. So he's leaving LA. Moving back to New York!"

Kurt's mouth is still hanging open, but the corners of his mouth are curled into a huge smile. "Oh my god!" He cries, hugging me and jumping around a little, "That's _amazing! _And you're going to move there with him?"

"Of course! But that's not even the best part."

"What could possibly be better than that?"

I say, "The musical they're writing was inspired by _my_ speech at the Avonroy Foundation benefit. By _my_ song, _Punching Bag._ They want to use the song, _and_ they want me to compose the rest of the score. They want me to help them write the whole show!"

"Are you kidding me?" He throws his hands up in disbelief. "That's _amazing!_ And this could go to Broadway?"

"They hope so," I say, "But even if it doesn't… I mean… Kurt, I inspired a fucking _musical_. I'm so excited."

He kisses me, and we fall back onto the bed. "So you're moving to NYC to help develop a brand new Broadway musical. Holy fucking shit. What about school?"

I say, "I'll figure that out. I still have one more amazing thing to tell you!"

"There's _more_?"

I nod. "Oh yes," I say, "And this one's big. I just got a call from Marble Records. They want to sign me. They want me to record an album. They say they want to make me a star."

Kurt is speechless.

"They want to meet with the producers of the musical to work out some kind of deal."

Kurt tackles me now, planting his lips on mine and pushing me down onto the bed. I fall back and reach to put my hands on his head, kissing him back.

We're both naked faster than you'd think would be possible.

We have sex for the first time since my mom died, and then we lie on his bed for hours, talking about our upcoming life in New York City.

He says, "We've been mentally preparing ourselves for months to be separated, and now… oh my god, Blaine, the relief is unbelievable."

"Tell me about it."

"So you're really going to record an album and compose a musical at the same time? What about your senior year? Are you sure you can handle all that?"

Shrugging, I say, "I honestly haven't really thought about it very much. I _just_ got all of this news. But I'll figure it out."

He says, "Just don't overdo it, okay?"

I say, "I'm just so overwhelmed and flattered right now. I haven't really had time to think about whether or not they're opportunities that I really want."

Kurt says, "It is pretty incredible. But you deserve it so much."

I laugh. "It's a pretty awesome way to end a shitty day, that's for sure."

"Just think carefully about it though, okay? I mean, taking on just one of those projects during your senior year is going to be hard enough. You're still grieving. I don't want to see you get in over your head."

He has a point. Now that the initial excitement has died down a little, I'm starting to wonder how any of this is even going to be possible.

Kurt points out, "If two incredible opportunities arose from one ten-minute performance, I think it's safe to say that there will always be more opportunities for you. You don't have to do it all now."

I nod. "You're right. Of course. I'm going to think about it. Right now I just feel like celebrating, though. I feel… I feel _excited_ for the first time in… in like forever."

"I was so proud of you in that court room today, Blaine. You were so calm. So poised."

I say, "I think I was sort of in a daze."

"All that stuff Cooper said though… holy shit. Completely fucked up."

Nodding, I say, "So fucked up. No wonder Cooper took off. No wonder he wouldn't talk to me about it. Who wants to remember crap like that?"

"Do you remember any of it?"

Shrugging, I say, "I guess. The thing is—nothing Cooper said shocked me. I wasn't surprised. It was like someone was giving me a plot synopsis of a movie I had on in the background once years ago. You know? Like… My subconscious always knew what was going on in my childhood, but I never let myself consciously admit it."

Kurt nods. "I guess that makes sense."

"Anyway," I say, "It's over now. Dad's going to jail. We can all move on. I am so ready just to move on. The only thing from my past I need to hang on to is you."

Kurt grins. "Don't think of it like that," he says, "I'd like to think that we have a lot more future together than we have past."

"Exactly," I say, "There's a lot of future out there. And somehow we've both lucked out enough to have awesome things to fill it up with."

We keep talking until the sun comes up and we fall asleep in each others' arms.


	111. This is what transition feels like

The day Kurt and I leave Lima is a hot and stormy one. The skies go back and forth between brilliant blue and deep purple. Warm wind whips trees in all directions. Rain pounds down in torrential ten-minute showers followed by piercing sunshine.

I find the weather very fitting to our emotions.

Most of the New Directions graduates are leaving today too; university starts next week for most of them. The whole choir has all spent the summer savouring our time together, and now summer is ending and half of us are scattering across the country.

In a month from now, we'll all have brand new lives and this life in Lima will be a distant memory.

I can't really figure out whether or not that's a bad thing or not.

We all gather at the Hummel-Hudson house to say our goodbyes. Santana, Rachel, Kurt and I are all taking the train to New York together this afternoon, while Finn is getting on a train to Fort Benning tomorrow. Mike is driving to Chicago with his parents in a couple of days. Quinn's going to Yale this weekend, and Puck and Mercedes get on a plane to Los Angeles tonight.

"What high school will you be at in New York?" Artie asks me, "I'll keep an eye out for your glee club if we somehow manage to make it to Nationals this year."

I say, "Victoria Arts. But I don't know if I'm going to do glee. The school has a music conservatory, and I think I'm going to focus more on composing."

"Really?" Artie looks surprised. "But you're such a great performer!"

I shrug. "I can always perform in subways or something."

"And when do you start work on your musical?" asks Rachel.

Kurt says, "He's already been working on it."

I nod. "A little. I've written a few songs based on the current draft of the script. But I don't really know what I'm doing. I'm meeting with an arranger next week to figure out exactly what it's going to take to develop a full score."

"I still can't believe that you're actually composing a Broadway musical," Rachel says, "That's just too cool."

I remind her, "We don't know for sure if it's going to Broadway. It's still a baby."

"Well," Rachel says, "Just be sure to keep me in mind when you start casting. I'll take any role."

I laugh. "Duly noted. But I'm sure you'll be far overqualified for our little show before we have it ready for that."

She looks flattered.

Thunder crashes above our heads, and everyone jumps a little.

Santana says, "We should all promise to come back here next summer. Even just for a day. For a reunion."

Everyone agrees.

I go to the kitchen to get a glass of water, and Quinn corners me before I rejoin the group.

"What's this I hear about you _turning down_ a recording contract?"

I smile. "I'm just not ready for that yet."

"But it's a _recording contract. _With _Marble_ Records?"

I say, "Quinn, I'm not even finished high school yet. I'm still trying to figure out who I am after all of the drama this year. I want to be a recording artist someday, but I want to wait until I'm comfortable with myself as an artist to step into the spotlight."

"But you don't know if you'll ever get an opportunity like that again."

"That's okay," I say, "Marble wanted to pour all their efforts to shoot me to instant fame. They wanted me to be a poster boy for gay confidence. That's not what I want right now."

"Why not? You're a wonderful performer and you love attention."

Shaking my head, I say, "Not like that. I need to be okay with me and with where I am in life before I can be anyone else' role model."

"Don't you think it's a little cocky to think that you would really get famous from a debut record when nobody even knows who you are?"

I say, "Maybe. But the people at Marble seemed to think they could make it happen."

"So you're just going to pass up on the opportunity of a lifetime?"

I nod. "Right now I just want to work on the musical—a project I _believe _in—and graduate high school. I want to go to college and hone my musicianship. I want to fight my own way into the music scene, playing at dingy cafes or on the streets. I want to see where the composing thing takes me. I just… yeah. That's what I want right now."

Quinn nods. "I don't know how you can be so level-headed and reasonable," she says, "After the year you've had, you should be completely fucked up. But you're just… I dunno. Calm."

Shrugging, I say, "I'm fucked up. I just understand myself enough to know how not to make it any worse."

We rejoin the party.

"Let's do a hug circle," Mercedes suggests, "The train to New York leaves in an hour. This is goodbye."

We all form a circle and join hands. Mercedes drops the hands of Kurt on her left and Finn on her right. She hugs Finn, and they embrace for a long time, complimenting and encouraging her. Then she steps to Finn's right and hugs Rachel. After she hugs Rachel, she moves on to Tina, on Rachel's right. As she moves, Finn turns and hugs Rachel, Mercedes continues around the circle, hugging each person one by one, and Finn follows right behind her, hugging everyone in turn. Rachel is right behind him, and then Tina.

The whole circle begins coiling in on each other as one by one, people leave their spot in the circle and join the hug train.

And then, almost half an hour later, we all find ourselves back in our original places in the circle, having hugged every person twice.

Almost everyone is crying.

And then it's time to leave for the train station.

Kurt and I hug Burt and Carole goodbye in the station, and then we go onto the platform hand-in-hand.

Santana and Rachel gives us a moment of alone time.

"So this is it," Kurt says, looking around, "We're really leaving Lima."

"It's weird, isn't it?" I ask, "I feel like I've hated this town for my entire life, and now I get to leave. Forever."

Shielding his eyes from the wind, Kurt says, "It is weird. I am beyond excited for New York, but somehow it hurts a lot more to leave here than I expected."

I say, "Ohio will always be the place where we fell in love. So it'll always mean something to us."

Kurt kisses me. "Exactly. But we're bringing our love with us to New York. And New York will be the place where our dreams come true. So this moment right now… This is what transition feels like."

"It's the most bizarre feeling," I say.

"Awful and wonderful all at once," he agrees.

The train pulls up, and both Kurt and I sort of shiver and bounce on our tiptoes. We take each other's hands, take deep breaths, and follow Rachel and Santana onto the train, dragging our suitcases behind us.

I've closed a lot of doors this year. I've spent a lot of time in metaphorical hallways, wondering which doors to open next. I've spent a lot of time picking symbolic locks, forcing my way into rooms I don't feel safe in.

This time, I'm not locking the door behind me.

This time, the door I'm opening isn't locked.

For the first time in a long time, I'm crossing a hallway without turning any keys.

**_The End_**

* * *

_Thanks for reading!  
_

_For some rambling closing thoughts from me, you could read my blog post here: _

___royalniffler .tumblr post/25063102113/all-the-words-wed-sing_  


_xoxoxooox  
_

_RoyalNiffer aka Jenner  
_


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